Jennie  Casseda^ 

of 

Louisville 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


-f&t 


o 


Jennie  Casseday 

of 

LOUISVILLE 


Her  Intimate  Life  at  Told  by  Her  Sitttr 

Mrs.    Fannie   Casseday  Duncan 

Author  of 

The  Menace  of  the  Lord's  Prayer,  The  Story  of  the  Mating  of  Louisville 

The  Atonies'  Creed,  &c. 


Printed  for  the  Author  by 

PRESBYTERIAN   COMMITTEE  of  PUBLICATION 
RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 

1922 


tEo  3U  arijose,  flHBomen  anl>  iflen, 
TOIfto  J^elpeb  to  iflabr  tfje  ILifr  of 

HTennte  Castfebap 

itflr st  anb  a  SJIr ssing 
3  Sebicatr  tfiis  ifloofe 


Copyright   1921 

BY 

Fannie  Casseoay  Duncan 


Prefatory 

WHEN  a  life  has  been  nobly  lived,  has 
made  a  strong  impression  upon  its  gen- 
eration and,  passing  away,  has  left  to 
other  generations  a  trail  that  may  serve  to  blaze 
a  way  upward,  it  becomes  a  duty  to  make  record 
of  at  least  its  salient  features,  that  it  may  remain 
both  as  guide  and  inspiration.  The  world  has 
been  greatly  enriched  by  the  biographies  of  its 
leaders. 

More  than  twenty-five  years  have  passed  since 
Jennie  Casseday  went  from  earth,  and  most  of 
those  who  knew  her  and  loved  her  and  were  a 
part  of  her  goings  and  comings  have  followed 
-  her  to  another  sphere.  But  lives  like  hers  never 
die.     Instead,  they  become  a  type  or  a  torch. 

So  it  is  not  primarily  to  magnify  Jennie  Cas- 
seday that  this  impressionist  sketch  of  her  is  be- 
ing made.  She  herself  would  be  the  first  to 
request  that  the  least  of  herself  be  pictured.  But 
this  touch-and-go  portrait  is  being  etched  because 
her  beautiful  life  was  fragrant  of  the  indwell- 
ing Christ,  and  we  would  that  its  sweet  incense 


550051 


might  lead  others  to  her  conception  of  service 
in  the  name  of  Him  who  said  "I  am  among  you 
as  one  that  serveth." 

In  thinking  of  Jennie  Casseday  we  are  re- 
minded of  a  passage  in  the  Analects  of  Confu- 
cius. One  of  his  disciples  asked  him:  "Master, 
is  there  one  single  word  which  may  serve  as  a 
rule  of  practice  for  the  whole  of  one's  life?" 
Confucius  replied,  "Is  not  SHU  (reciprocity,  or 
service)  such  a  word?" 


Jennie  Casseday 

of  Louisville,  Kentucky 


Atmosphere. 

"In    the   beauty  of   the   lilies, 

Like    her    Lord's,    her    sweet    life    ran, 
The  same  light  within  her  bosom 

That  He  wore  as  Son  of  Man : 
The  same  mission  to  the  sinning 

On  her  tender  heart  was  laid; 
She  too  had  the  love  that  answered 

When  griefs  cried  and  grew  afraid. 

"In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies, 

Walked  her  soul  in  spotless  white, 
Brightening  up  the  world  of  shadows 

With  a  clear,   reflected   light. 
Where  the  shadows  fell  to  blackness, 

Where  the  ooze  of  sin  and  crime 
Was  the  deepest,   there  her   courage 

Proved    her    stricken    life    sublime." 


JUNE  9,  1840,  was  Jennie  Casseday 's  birth- 
day, the  day  when  this  wee  infant  took  on  the 
outward  form  of  the  mystery  which  we  call 
life.  My  thought  often  travels  back  to  that  birth- 
day and  to  the  insignificant  baby  whose  future  no 
one  could  divine.  Next  comes  the  memory  of  her 
early  years,  as  I  afterward  came  to  know  them, — 
happy  years,  so  soon  shadowed — and  of  her  ever- 


after  shut-in  life,  with  only  pain  as  a  constant 
companion.  In  lighter  mood  I  recall  her  as  the 
normal  little  girl,  born  of  rich,  cultured  parents 
who  loved  to  give  their  children  every  equipment 
for  happiness.  She  was  so  round  and  ruddy  and 
sturdy  that  her  big  brothers  called  her  "Dutch". 
That  was  her  family  nickname  until  she  was 
nearly  grown,  until  in  fact  it  seemed  pitiless  to 
call  her  by  it — until  we  came  to  speak  of  her, 
gently,  as  "Our  Little  White  Shadow".  When 
she  was  well  in  her  'teens  her  Aunt-Mother 
called  her  "Miss  Gadabout"  because  she  so  loved 
to  make  one  in  all  the  good  times  going. 
Strangely  enough,  in  thinking  of  her  I  often  re- 
call her  beautiful  feet.  They  were  exceptionally 
shapely,  plump  and  white.  As  a  young  woman 
she  was  proud  of  her  feet  and  loved  to  dress 
them  richly.  Whatever  was  novel  in  silk  and 
leather  she  bought ;  and  she  was  as  light  on  her 
feet  as  a  bird. 

Ah,  those  feet !  Those  snowy,  blue-veined  feet 
that  trod  the  earth  so  airily.  Those  patient, 
twisted  feet  that  lay  quite  quiet  on  the  bed  for 
more  than  thirty  years,  aching  with  pain !  Those 
thin,  pale  feet,  dumbly  crossed  in  rest!  Aye, 
those  transfigured  feet,  floating  upward  to  the 
golden  gates  of  the  Beautiful  City  of  God ! 
******** 

Her  mother  died  when  Jennie  was  only  nine 
years  old ;  but  a  maiden  aunt  took  the  place  of 
mother  and  filled  it  so  beautifully  that  we 
younger  children  scarcely  knew  we  were  mother- 

6 


u 


o  °o 


U 


u 


'-'  iSW 


less.  Our  father  was  both  mother  and  father 
to  us  all — yes,  and  teacher  and  preacher  and 
chum  and  model.  He  lived  to  be  eighty-two 
years  young  and  often  we  thought  of  Browning's 
lines: 

"Grow  old  along  with  me ! 
The  best  o4  life  is  yet  to  be, 
The  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made. 
Our  times  are  in  his  hand 
Who  saith   'a  whole  I   planned, 
Youth  shows  but  half;  trust  God,  see  all, 
Nor  be  afraid.' " 

The  Casseday  home  was  notable  in  its  day.  In 
1844  father  bought  an  elevated  plateau  right  in 
the  heart  of  Louisville,  Kentucky.  There  were 
eight  children  of  us  and  he  built  a  big  sunny 
house,  providing  winter  romp-rooms  for  his  four 
little  girls  and  a  completely  furnished  carpenter- 
shop  for  his  four  growing  boys.  This  wise  pro- 
vision kept  his  girls  and  boys  at  home  and  also 
supplied  companionship  with  the  boys  and  girls 
of  his  friends. 

Jennie  Casseday's  intense  love  for  flowers,  and 
for  all  nature,  was  an  inheritance  from  her 
mother.  Our  spacious  grounds  were  laid  off  in 
figures  and  wide  serpentine  walks,  with  rare 
trees  and  flowers.  There  was  a  high  stone  re- 
taining wall  with  a  plantation  border  which  was 
filled  with  dear  old-fashioned  things,  such  as 
lilacs,  peonies,  altheas,  weigelias,  golden  elder, 
barberry  bushes  and  calacanthuses  and  moss 
roses.     There  were  broad  stretches  of  bluegrass, 


ending  in  circles  and  squares  and  half  moons  of 
exquisite  roses.  It  was  a  place  to  dream  of  and 
to  dream  in.  It  was  father's  love  gift  to  his 
idolized  wife.  But  she  lived  less  than  five  years 
to  enjoy  it. 

Jennie's  father,  Samuel  Casseday,  was  a  Vir- 
ginian, a  Presbyterian,  and  a  slave  owner.  Her 
mother,  Eliza  McFarland,  was  born  in  Philadel- 
phia of  Ulster  parents  and  held  the  British  view 
of  slavery.  Her  slaves  almost  worshipped  mother 
and  delighted  to  render  her  obedience.  In  this 
home  one  saw  only  the  happiest  side  of  slavery — 
provision  and  prevision,  motherings  for  the  sick, 
religious  schooling,  and  respect  from  mistress  to 
slave  and  slave  to  mistress.  I  wish  this  were  the 
place  to  tell  the  charming  story  of  how  our 
slaves  were  freed  and  sent  to  Liberia  at  my 
father's  cost  almost  before  the  world  knew  there 
was  an  Abraham  Lincoln.  I  hope  to  incorporate 
it  in  a  book  I  am  preparing — "The  Old  Slave  On 
Old  Kentucky  Plantations". 

Perhaps  this  is  all  that  Jennie  Casseday's  bi- 
ographer needs  to  tell,  in  this  short  sketch,  of 
her  home  life.  We  were  a  big,  happy,  cultured 
family,  bookish  and  artistic.  I  think  we  were 
modest  withal,  for  our  very  fortunate  circum- 
stances did  not  strike  us  as  exceptional  at  all  or 
a  matter  to  be  vain  of,  but  only  as  a  happy  mat- 
ter of  course.  Father  and  mother,  both,  early 
taught  us  the  Golden  Rule  as  a  rule  of  life. 


8 


Fetters 

"Behind  the  dim  Unknown, 
Standeth    God    within    the    shadow 
Keeping  watch  above  His  own." 

IN  moments  of  contemplation,  did  you  ever 
think  how  long  Nature  takes  to  round  her 
creations  to  perfection?,  or  through  what 
painful  stages  her  fruits  must  pass  before  they 
reach  maturity  —  storms,  wind,  rain,  frost,  the 
pruning  shears?  If  such  are  the  methods  of 
Nature,  is  it  any  wonder  that  highest  spiritual 
completions  must  often  come  through  great 
travail  of  soul? 

Just  before  Jennie  graduated,  her  years  of  too- 
intensive  study  told  upon  her  brain,  and  fever 
carried  her  out  on  its  drifting  tides,  bewildering 
her  for  months;  but  after  that  came  a  period  of 
happy  young  womanhood,  of  beaux  and  travel 
and  dress  and  the  usual  whirl  of  social  life.  They 
seemed  good  to  her. 

But  better  things  were  in  store  for  Jennie. 
They  did  not  appear  better  at  the  time,  but  worse, 
— oh  much  worse.  They  assumed,  in  1861,  the  dis- 
guise of  a  terrible  accident — runaway  horses,  an 
overturned  carriage,  a  broken  body  dragged 
along  under  the  wheels,  and  hopelessly  maimed 
forever.    Then  the  awful  shadow  of  a  life  bereft 


of  all  the  things  that  make  womanhood  dear  to 
women — wifehood,  motherhood,  and 

"The  red,  sweet  wine  of  youth.     She  gave  up  the  years 
to  be 
Of  work  and  joy;  and  those  who  would  have  been 
her  sons." 

Next  appeared  a  sculptor,  with  mallet  and 
chisel,  sent  to  hew  out  of  this  fine  marble  all  that 
it  possessed  of  the  image  of  God,  things  so  heroic 
and  noble,  so  clear-cut  and  ideally  beautiful  that 
the  work  should  stand  for  a  model  to  all  gen- 
erations. 

This  sculptor's  name  was  PAIN.  Jennie  told 
me  years  after  that  he  really  was  an  angel, 
though  she  did  not  then  recognize  him  as  such. 
Into  a  corner  of  her  pretty  bedroom  he  thrust 
her,  darkened  the  windows,  and  the  work  of  slow 
transformation  began. 

Now  came  another  period  in  this  girl's  life — a 
period  of  adjusting.  Such  are  critical  periods. 
One  never  comes  out  of  them  exactly  the  same 
being.  When  they  have  passed,  something  has 
gone  out  of  us,  or  something  has  come  into  us 
which  has  made  us  over  again,  has  made  a  new 
US.  After  a  time  even  our  faces  have  changed: 
a  new  light  has  come  into  them,  or  an  old  light 
has  gone  out  of  them.  Bitterness  and  cynicism 
have  settled  over  them,  or  age  and  care  have 
withered  them ;  or  sweetness  and  light  have  trans- 
figured them  so  that  they  are  lik^  the  faces  of 
angels. 

10 


"The  test  of  greatness,"  says  one,  "lies  not  so 
much  after  all  with  those  who,  being  highly  en- 
dowed, accomplish  great  things,  as  with  those 
who  retain  their  greatness  under  narrowing  con- 
ditions and  influences."  I  think  Jennie  Casse- 
day,  "honored,  wept,  sung  of"  on  all  the  conti- 
nents, was  not  greater,  not  so  great,  perhaps,  as 
was  Jennie  Casseday  under  the  anvil,  shut  out, 
shut  in,  in  those  years  of  pauseless  torture  and 
slow  transformation. 

I  was  with  her  through  that  long  dark  night 
of  adjustment,  during  which  no  one  of  us  could 
understand ;  and  I  was  witness  to  the  heroism 
with  which  she  fought,  for  us  as  well  as  for 
herself,  the  battle  with  doubt  and  despair  and 
black  unbelief. 

Many  and  many  a  time  arguments  failed  her 
own  soul,  as  well  as  mine,  and  then  she  would 
lie  back  exhausted  with  the  double  battle,  the 
spiritual  and  physical,  and  say  only  these  words: 
"What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt 
know  hereafter."  Sometimes  she  would  fortify 
us  both  thus:  "If  I  knew,  Fan,  as  well  as  God 
does,  and  as  far,  either  I  would  be  God,  or  he 
would  not  be  God.  Take  my  hand  in  yours  and 
let  us  trust  him  wholly." 

Thus  the  little  grain  of  faith  rooted  itself  firmly 
in  the  soil  and  prepared  us  both  to  withstand 
many  a  shock  of  tempests.  A  favorite  hymn  of 
hers  in  those  dark  days  was  this,  written  by  Cow- 
per  in  the  twilight  of  his  departing  reason. 


"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform ; 
He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea 
And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

"Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 
Of  never  failing  skill 
He  treasures  up  his  bright  designs 
And  works  his  wondrous  will. 

"Judge   not   the    Lord    by    feeble    sense, 

But  trust  him  for  his  grace 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face." 

Yet  Jennie  Casseday  was  very  human.  She 
was  full  of  humour:  she  loved  poetry  and  music 
and  pretty  gowns,  and  a  good  novel  now  and 
then,  when  she  could  spare  the  time  to  read  it. 

I  do  not  believe  that  at  any  time  of  her  life 
she  thought  of  herself  as  "entering  a  career". 
She  had  no  desire  or  intention  "to  arrive."  She 
just  lay  quiet  on  her  little  bed,  awaiting  God's 
leadings  day  by  day,  doing  what  came  to  her  to 
do,  and  suffering  what  she  must  suffer,  often 
repeating  to  both  herself  and  me  these  lines: 

"Just  as  God  leads  me 

I   would  go. 
I  do  not  ask  to  choose  my  way, 

Content  with  what  He  doth  bestow, 
Assured  He  will  not  let  me  stray." 

12 


And  these: 

"Yes,  leave  it  to  Him, 
The  lilies  all  do 

And  they  grow — 
They  grow  in  the  rain, 
And   they  grow   in   the   dew — 
Yes,  they  grow ; 
They  grow   in  the   darkness,  all   hid   in   the  night, 
They  grow  in  the  sunshine,  revealed  by  the  light, 
Still  they  grow. 

"The   grasses    are   clothed 
And  the  ravens  are  fed 

From  His  store ; 
But  you,  who  are  loved, 
And  guarded,  and  led, 
How  much   more? 
Whatever  you  need,  if  you  ask  it  in  prayer, 
You  can  leave  it  with  Him,  for  you  are  His  care, 
YOU,  you  know." 


13 


Daybreak 

SO,  trusting  Jesus  with  all  her  might  Jennie 
Casseday  held  on  with  a  determination  that 
knew  no  faltering,  praying  constantly  and 
with  every  fibre  of  her  soul  for  hourly  guidance, 
until,  out  of  her  travail,  came  a  new  born  being. 
She  had  been  anointed  through  suffering  and  she 
was  henceforth  ready  to  minister. 

But  how  could  she  minister?  A  frail  little 
figure,  pitiable  in  its  helplessness  and  tied  to  a 
bed — what  could  she  do  to  help  in  this  great, 
busy,  bustling  world,  that  rolls  like  a  modern 
Juggernaut,  crushing  out  human  lives  in  utter 
remorselessness,  or  in  conscious  lust  for  prey? 
What  could  she  do? 

I  will  tell  you  what  she  did  do.  In  the  first 
place  she  forgot  self.  She  put  pain  and  worry 
out  of  sight  so  that  her  room  was  a  centre  of 
brightness  where  one  and  another  grew  to  love 
to  come.  She  became  an  inspiration  to  her 
household.  She  gave  to  each  and  every  one  who 
entered  her  presence  a  ray  of  brightness,  suiting, 
with  fine  instinct,  the  gift  to  the  need — to  one  a 
smile,  because  smiles  were  fitting;  to  one  a  tear, 
because  tears  were  uppermost ;  for  one  an  uplift, 
because  burdens  are  weighty  and  there  are  few 
who  understand.  And  so,  little  by  little,  people 
grew  to  love  to  come  to  her,  and  to  go  and  tell 
others:  Andrew  told  Simon,  and  Simon,  Philip; 


and  Philip,  Nathaniel,  so  to  speak,  until  the  mul- 
titude thronged. 

We  will  touch  lightly  upon  Jennie's  days  of 
torture  and  nights  of  pauseless  pain,  though  they 
continued  for  more  than  thirty  years.  She  her- 
self spoke  of  them  only  to  her  physician,  to  God, 
and  to  her  own  heart.  I,  living  with  her,  knew 
them,  of  course;  but  she  had  a  strong  tempera- 
mental reserve  which  one,  knowing  her  gener- 
ous sympathies  and  simple  manners,  hardly  sus- 
pected. "How  did  you  get  hurt?"  "Where  do 
you  suffer?"  "Have  you  constant  pain?"  were 
questions  left  deftly  unanswered.  Replies  could 
help  no  one,  she  said,  tended  to  morbid  selfness, 
and  would  only  waste  precious  time  for  both  her- 
self and  her  visitors.  This  psychologic  reserve 
soon  became  known  and  thereafter  her  room  was 
as  free  from  all  sorrowful  things  as  is  the  nave  of 
a  cathedral.  Her  bedside  was  a  shrine,  not  a 
mausoleum. 

Where  lay  her  strange  power?  I  cannot  ex- 
plain it.  Probably  the  ways  of  God's  spirit  act- 
ing on  human  affairs  are  never  explicable.  The 
more  one  tries  to  explore  them  the  more  mar- 
velous do  they  appear.  We  come  upon  strange 
modes  in  the  makeup  of  the  individual  who 
is  Spirit- filled,  and  surprising  moods  in  those 
who  come  under  his  or  her  influence.  It  does  not 
seem  to  be  a  human  problem  at  all,  but  one  to 
be  solved  along  mystic  lines.  Among  the  letters 
concerning  Jennie  after  her  death  is  one  in  the 
handwriting  of  Lady  Henry  Somerset,  a  great 

15 


friend  of  Miss  Willard's.  It  is  only  a  fragment 
of  a  letter  and  does  not  include  the  name  of  the 
writer  in  its  present  charred  and  imperfect  state, 
but  I  suppose  from  the  manner  of  its  coming  to 
me  that  Lady  Henry  is  speaking  of  Jennie  Casse- 
day,  so  fitting  is  it.     The  letter  says: 

"What  was  it  that  made  it  possible  for  every- 
one who  came  into  her  presence  to  feel  that  they 
had  found  a  friend  ?  That  their  interests,  their 
lives,  their  work,  their  advancement,  their  devel- 
opment, was  the  thing  that  was  always  near  to 
her  heart?  I  think  first  of  all  it  was  a  profound 
belief  in  humanity.  She  saw  the  divine  in  hu- 
manity as  I  have  never  known  it  realized  by  any 
one  else ;  and  in  the  very  darkest,  dingiest  human 
life  she  recognized  the  aureole  that  no  one  else 
saw.  It  was  not  that  she  made  herself  believe  in 
people,  but  it  was  that  she  did  believe  in  them. 
She  had  an  intuition  of  their  best,  and  although 
at  times  that  intuition  possibly  made  her  exag- 
gerate the  good  and  minimize  the  ill,  it  never 
failed  to  call  out  for  the  time  in  that  human 
soul  a  real  desire  to  live  up  to  what  she  believed 
it  to  be." 

Jennie  kept  a  Day-book  in  which  she  wrote 
each  night  the  blessings  of  the  day  as  they  had 
been  experienced  by  her.  Its  first  page  was 
headed  with  this  quotation :  "Count  your  bless- 
ings, one  by  one."  Under  it  she  had  written: 
"I  cannot.  They  rush  upon  me  like  waters  from 
a  gargoyle."    On  one  page  I  find  this  poem.  Some 

16 


friend  found  and  copied  it  as  expressive  of  their 
own  attitude  towards  her.    It  bears  no  signature. 

"I  never  crossed  your  threshold  with  a  grief 
But    that   I    went    without   it;    never   came 
Heart-hungry,  but  you  fed  me,  eased  the  blame, 
And  gave  the  sorrow  solace  and  relief. 

"I  never  left  you  but  I  took  away 

The  love  that  drew  me  to  your  side  again 
Through  that  wide  door  that  never  could  remain 
Quite  closed  between  us  for  a  little  day." 

"Man  proposes:  God  disposes."  If  Jennie  Cas- 
seday  had  no  intention  of  creating  a  "career," 
Heaven  surely  appointed  to  her  a  mission — the 
mission  being  to  reach  as  many  lives  as  possible 
and  make  them  sweeter,  gladder,  and  more  worth 
while.  Those  who  came  first  to  her  bedside  came 
for  the  joy  of  her  friendship,  largely  women  of 
her  own  well-circumstanced  class ;  but  soon  she 
found  that  anywhere  one  may  have  a  mission, 
and  that  fashion  or  wealth  do  not  guarantee 
hearts  at  peace  with  themselves.  Let  me  give  an 
illustration :  One  evening  a  gentleman  called. 
Something  within  Jennie — some  magnetic,  un- 
analysible  power  divinely  bestowed  now  and  then 
on  a  few  elect  ones — drew  out  confidences  in  the 
strangest  way.  In  a  short  time  this  young  man 
was  weeping  and  telling  her  all  his  sorrows.  He 
and  his  beautiful  young  wife  were  on  the  eve  of 
a  divorce.  He  loved  her  dearly  but,  like  many 
another  husband,  he  tried  to  form  her  anew, 
after  some  old-time,  straight-laced  pattern,  left  by 
his  New  England  ancestors.  The  girl  was  South- 

17 


ern,  high  strung,  an  only  child  and  spoiled  to  the 
limit,  and  she  rebelled.  The  "little  rift  within  the 
lute"  was  slowly  widening  to  "make  the  music 
mute".  As  the  handsome,  masterful  young  man, 
his  heart  crazed  with  bewilderment  and  grief, 
sat  beside  Jennie's  bed,  she,  with  quick  compre- 
hension of  the  whole  situation,  told  him  plainly 
where  his  trouble  lay. 

By  a  strange  (was  it  Providential?)  coinci- 
dence the  very  next  day  the  wife  called.  Her 
young  heart  was  simply  breaking  for  her  lover- 
husband,  who  now,  she  said,  only  found  fault 
with  her.  Not  letting  the  wife  know  of  the  hus- 
band's visit,  but  holding  the  key  to  their  mutual 
misery,  Jennie  was  in  a  position  to  offer  expert 
advice.  Neither,  so  far  as  I  know,  ever  knew 
of  the  visit  of  the  other ;  but  a  happy  houseful  of 
boys  and  girls  afterward  gathered  around  their 
fireside,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  averted  trag- 
edy. This  was  not  an  unusual  case.  People  came 
to  her  as  to  a  Father-confessor  and  went  away 
shriven  and  with  new  purpose. 

But  there  was  another  class  over  whom  Jen- 
nie's heart  yearned — a  class  whose  burdens  were 
more  tangible,  more  oppressive,  harder  to  deal 
with.  These  were  the  over-worked,  over- 
tempted,  under-fed,  battle-scarred  folk  of  her 
own  city.  Night  and  morning  she  prayed  for 
them.  At  the  time  that  was  all  she  felt  she  could 
do,  for  the  Civil  War  had  come,  was  over,  and 
our  father  was  very  nearly  impoverished.     His 

18 


interests  had  been  in  the  South  and  the  South 
was  ruined.  Merchants  who  owed  him  great 
sums  of  money  were  either  killed  or  their  prop- 
erty was  eaten  up,  and  all  hope  of  collecting  bad 
debts  was  forever  gone.  Soon  his  home  was 
turned  into  apartments.  Rentable  houses  were 
built  right  over  the  rose  beds,  and  were  mort- 
gaged to  pay  for  the  building.  Within  a  decade 
our  father  died,  the  big  old  mahoganies  were, 
most  of  them,  sold  and  Jennie  and  I  resorted  to 
boarding  house  life.  Brothers  and  cousins  lay 
on  the  "Flanders  Fields"  of  the  Southland,  and 
we  had  to  make  ourselves  content  with  life  from 
this  new  angle.  Within  three  years  I  married ; 
we  secured  a  lovely  old  English  cottage ;  two 
growing  nephews,  whose  father  also  slept  in 
"Flanders  Fields",  came  to  us  at  the  death  of 
their  beloved  mother,  and  we  all  went  again  to 
the  delights  of  housekeeping.  How  happy  she 
was  with  a  home  once  more,  with  rose  beds  out- 
side her  window  and  a  backyard  full  of  Collie 
pups.  And  soon  came  my  fairy  baby  to  live 
beside  her  for  six  short  months. 


19 


"I  Was  Sick  and  Ye  Visited  Me" 

THROUGH   this  straying  pathway  I  now 
come    to    Jennie    Casseday's    first    public- 
service  work  and  its  queer  beginnings  — 
the  Flower  Mission. 

From  its  initial  number,  the  New  York  Ob- 
server, the  most  notable  religious  paper  of  its 
day,  had  been  taken  in  our  home,  my  father's 
home.  In  1869  it  was  full  of  the  story  of  a  young 
Boston  girl,  teaching  in  Roxbury,  who,  as  she 
passed  from  place  to  place,  noticed  the  great 
waste  of  flowers  and  fruits  in  the  gardens  of  the 
rich,  most  notable  when  the  owners  were  absent, 
or  in  summer,  when  the  sight  of  any  blossom  or 
the  perfume  of  any  flower  that  has  survived  the 
scorching  heat  is  so  welcome  to  the  inhabitants 
of  a  crowded  city.  Sometimes  the  teacher  was 
given  a  bunch  of  roses  and  these  she  invariably 
gave  away  to  the  children  of  the  streets,  children 
of  poverty,  who  ran  after  her,  begging  "One 
flower,  Lady,  please !"  Later  she  secured  bas- 
kets of  flowers  and  small  fruits  and  made  little 
detours  on  her  way  to  school,  so  as  to  reach  even 
the  more  denied  districts.  It  was  a  simple  act, 
simply  done. 

This  story  fired  the  heart  of  Jennie  Casseday, 
as  she  lay  there  in  her  little  bed,  shut  out  from 
the  green  earth  and  the  glorious  flowers,  love  for 
which  was  her  passion  and  her  inheritance.    Day 

20 


and  night  she  thought  of  the  sweet  young  teacher 
of  Roxbury.  Her  vision  grew  deeper  and  wider, 
and  she  came  to  realize  the  possibilities  of  such 
a  ministry. 

With  Jennie  Casseday  to  see  a  need  was  to 
feel  a  call.  She  did  not  pause  to  bemoan  her 
helplessness  or  even  to  think  of  it.  Instead  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief  (which 
was  her  way  of  kneeling  in  prayer ;  her  only  way. 
Whenever  we  found  her  so  screened  we  trod 
lightly,  for  we  knew  the  place  on  which  we  trod 
was  holy  ground)  and  asked  for  guidance  in 
planning.  Then  she  planned.  She  called  to  her 
bedside  the  influential  women  of  Louisville,  the 
specially  consecrated  women,  and  also  that  beau- 
tiful body  of  women  plodders  who  win  success 
through  patience  and  service.  She  recognized 
that  what  she  hoped  to  create  demanded  team 
work  and  delicate  organization.  Those  whom 
she  called  came  and  plans  were  perfected  at  her 
bedside.  A  public  meeting  was  arranged.  Edi- 
tors offered  their  columns  gladly:  reporters  did 
their  best  to  float  her  project  out  on  the  tide  of 
popular  favor,  and  the  Courier-Journal  presented 
the  use  of  a  large  room  in  its  building  with  tables 
ready  for  tying  up  flowers.  By  the  time  of  the 
first  going  forth  this  room  was  crowded  with 
flower  missionaries  and  these  tables  burdened 
with  heaps  of  flowers  of  every  class  and  hue. 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  story  of  the  Louis- 
ville Flower  Mission  and  its  invalid  designer  to 
get  abroad.    Letters  came  to  Miss  Casseday  from 

21 


north,  south,  east  and  west  until  Flower  Mis- 
sions were  inaugurated  in  forty  different  States 
and  countries.  In  the  course  of  time  there  came 
to  Jennie's  door  a  most  elaborate  music  box,  pre- 
sented by  the  members  of  Flower  Missions  in 
forty  States  west  of  the  Mississippi.  Our  sister, 
Mrs.  Eliza  Casseday  McElroy,  of  Richmond,  Vir- 
ginia, fell  heir  to  this  box  and  holds  it  as  a  most 
precious  possession.  This  was  long  before  the 
days  of  the  Victrola. 

Next  came  a  letter  from  Harper  Brothers,  pub- 
lishers, begging  an  article  from  Jennie's  pen  for 
its  "Harpers  Young  People".  I  will  quote  from 
that  article:  She  wrote: 

"Thank  you  for  your  request.  The  mission  of 
flowers  has  in  it  such  possibilities,  such  deep 
meanings,  so  much  cheer  and  brightness  for  the 
sick,  the  aged,  the  poor,  the  shut-ins,  and  for 
the  missionaries  themselves,  that  I  find  my  heart 
bounding  with  gladness  at  the  new  avenue  you 
have  opened  for  its  enlargement. 


"As  you  may  well  guess,  flowers  are  used 
merely  as  a  wedge.  Their  beauty,  purity,  and 
fragrance,  teaching  of  the  love  of  God,  who  made 
them,  and  of  the  human  sympathy  which  brings 
them,  opens  the  heart  to  gratitude,  and  prepares 
the  way  for  the  little  text  card,  which  they  must 
always  have  attached  to  them.  They  can  do  no 
real  good  without  this  card,  which  must  contain 
a  message   from   God's  own   Word.     Trust  the 

22 


flowers  to  do  the  wedging;  they  have  inherent 
power  for  that.  The  very  gift  of  them  implies  a 
compliment  which  is  quickly  recognized,  and 
tends  to  create  self-respect  and  that  something 
God-implanted  in  all  of  our  hearts  which  responds 
to  their  silent  influence.  Both  giver  and  receiver 
are  the  better  for  the  gift.  I  have  come  to  believe 
that  it  is  for  this  very  use  flowers  were  made,  and 
we  have  been  all  this  time  finding  out  God's 
Thoughts : 

"God  might  have  made  the  earth  bring  forth 
Enough    for  great   and    small, 
The  oak-tree,  and  the  cedar-tree, 
Without   a   flower  at   all. 

"Then  wherefore,  wherefore,  were  they  made, 
All  dyed  with  rainbow  light, 
All  fashioned  with  supremest  grace, 
Upspringing  day  and  night? 

"To  comfort  man,  to  whisper  hope 
Whene'er  his   hope  is   dim ; 
For  whoso  careth   for  the  flowers 
Will  much  more  care  for  him." 

Think  of  one  lying  shut  in  with  pain,  sur- 
rounded with  the  ill  conditions  of  poverty,  noth- 
ing to  brighten  or  alleviate  lonely  hours,  and  of 
what  it  would  be  to  have  a  tender-hearted  woman 
or  a  bright-faced  young  girl  come  with  a  little 
knot  of  "something  white,  something  bright,  and 
something  sweet"  (my  rule  for  making  bou- 
quets), and  lay  it  on  the  pillow  or  in  the  hand. 
Imagine  a  hospital,  with  row  after  row  of  beds 
filled  with  sufferers.    Fancy  the  Flower  Mission- 

23 


aries  entering  the  ward  with  baskets  of  heliotrope, 
rose-buds,  sweet  violets,  lilies,  fresh  with  the  dew 
of  the  day.  See  how  eagerly  pale  hands  are  out- 
stretched to  receive  them,  with  what  glad  delight 
they  clutch  the  beautiful  blossoms  and  press  them 
to  their  faces,  as  if  to  drink  in  the  message  they 
carry. 

Can  you  not  see  where  their  ministry  begins? 

Now,  follow  the  Flower  Missionaries  to  a  jail 
or  penitentiary.  Within  the  iron  walls  are  de- 
graded men  and  women,  prisoned  in  the  cells, 
forsaken,  disgraced,  disowned.  What,  think  you, 
must  it  be  to  these  poor  creatures,  by  the  outer 
world  neglected,  to  have  gentle  Christlike  women 
come  to  them  to  tell  them  Jesus  loves  them  and 
longs  to  save  them,  how  He  sends  the  pure  beauty 
of  the  flowers  into  their  darkened  lives.  The 
subtle  fragrance  brings  to  them  tender  associa- 
tions of  the  old  home  garden,  of  mother,  and  days 
agone,  when  all  the  world  was  fair  to  their  inno- 
cence and  youth.  The  heart,  in  this  softened 
mood,  is  ready  to  receive  these  words  of  God, 
heard  in  better  times,  and  they  come  with  the 
ring  of  truth  from  Heaven  and  speak  to  them 
in  tones  of  love.  The  Holy  Spirit  seals  the  im- 
pression, and  eternity  alone  can  reveal  the  re- 
sult." 

This  beautiful  organization  was  not  left  to  the 
emotions.  While  it  was  essentially  a  merciful 
society,  it  was  also  a  judicious  one,  with  wise 
committees  sent  to  investigate  families  who  ap- 
plied for  aid,  or  to  search  for  those  who  needed 

24 


help  but  had  not  applied  for  it.  In  fact  it  was 
the  report  brought  in  by  its  workers  that  formed 
the  embryo  which,  later,  developed  into  Miss 
Casseday's  District  Nurse  Work. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Jennie  that  nothing 
she  touched  remained  long  local.  She  entered 
upon  each  of  her  many  benefices  only  after  much 
prayer  and  much  thinking.  Also  she  had  a  strong 
impression,  each  time,  that  she  was  specially 
called  to  lead  or  organize  the  things  in  hand.  Then 
she  went  to  it  with  the  ease  of  one  so  equipped 
and  so  supported.  I  think  successes  which  seem 
phenomenal  may  often  be  thus  accounted  for. 


25 


"In  Prison  and  Ye  Came  Unto  Me* 

IT  was  but  a  short  step  from  the  local  Flower 
Mission  to  criminals  confined  in  prisons. 
Jennie,  herself  confined  to  narrow  quarters, 
soon  began  thinking  of  all  sorts  of  prisoners  and 
began  planning  to  send  the  message  of  the  flowers 
to  States  Prisons.  Her  board  co-operated  with 
her  loyally  and  gladly.  Heii  birthday,  June  9th, 
was  set  apart  as  Flower  Mission  Prison  Day.  By 
this  time  Flower  Missions  had  grown  up  in  most 
of  the  States  of  the  Union  and  large  plans  were 
made  to  visit  all  State  and  local  prisons  and 
reformatories  on  June  9th.  The  co-operation 
of  officers  of  prisons  was  secured  beforehand,  the 
number  of  prisoners  learned,  and  it  was  asked 
that  prisoners  be  asked  to  assemble  in  their 
chapels  at  a  fixed  hour.  It  was  arranged  to 
present  each  prisoner  with  a  bouquet  made  of 
"something  white,  something  bright,  something 
sweet."  A  requisite  was  that  each  bouquet  must 
have  a  text  of  scripture  attached  to  it  by  a  fine 
wire.  Jennie  herself  selected  a  large  number  of 
texts  and  had  them  printed.  But  a  missionary 
was  at  liberty  to  choose  her  own  texts  and  write 
them  with  a  pen.  In  fact  Jennie  thought  the 
latter  way  might  seem  more  personal  and  might 
bring  good  to  the  selecter,  as  well  as  to  the  one 
for  whom  it  was  intended. 

26 


Enter    The    Women's    Christian 
Temperance   Union 

IN  1889  the  "Society  of  Christian  Workers" 
held  its  annual  meeting  in  New  York  and  its 
secretary  requested  Miss  Casseday  to  send  to 
it  information  regarding  her  Flower  Mission 
work.  She  responded  by  sending  a  letter,  which 
was  read  from  the  platform.  There  was  at  once 
a  large  demand  for  copies  of  this  and  it  was  soon 
put  in  booklet  form  for  the  convenience  of  all 
who  wanted  to  know  about  this  public  service.  I 
quote  a  bit  from  the  booklet: 

"It  was  four  years  after  the  Louisville  Flower 
Mission  was  organized  that  Miss  Frances  E. 
Willard  was  in  Louisville,  the  guest  of  my  sister, 
Mrs.  John  Duncan.  On  the  very  last  morning  of 
her  stay  she  came  to  my  room  and  asked  me  to 
tell  her  all  about  my  Mission  work.  I  told  it  as 
simply  and  fully  as  I  could  and  she  listened  in- 
tently. When  I  had  finished,  Miss  Willard,  with 
that  quick  perception  and  ready  insight  for  which 
she  is  so  remarkable,  saw  how  Flower  Missions 
might  be  grafted  on  to  temperance  work  and 
bring  forth  rich  harvests  of  good  to  both.  She 
rose  to  her  feet  exclaiming,  'I  have  an  inspira- 
tion ;  it  is  to  establish  a  Flower  Mission  depart- 
ment   of   the    Women's    Christian    Temperance 

27 


Union,  and  put  you  at  its  head  as  National  Su- 
perintendent.' 

"The  very  idea  appalled  me,  and  I  felt  it  was 
impossible  for  me  either  to  take  on  more  work 
or  to  think  of  undertaking,  from  my  little  corner, 
a  National  Flower  Mission.  But  it  was  another 
unfolding  of  God's  thoughts  and  in  a  few  months 
He  opened  my  eyes  to  His  will  for  me, — and 
now  this  department  has  grown  to  large  pro- 
portions,— as  does  all  work  that  has  God's  call 
behind  it." 

Frances  Willard  was  ever  a  dreamer.  A  fa- 
vorite motto  with  her  when  organizing  a  cause 
was,  "Enter  every  open  door."  At  the  next 
meeting  of  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U. —  1881  — 
Miss  Willard  told  the  sweet  tale  of  Jennie  Cas- 
seday  and  the  Flower  Missions.  Then  she  pro- 
posed Jennie  Casseday  as  "first  Superintendent 
of  a  new  department  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U. — the 
Flower  Mission  Department."  Her  election  went 
off  with  a  sweep  and  ever  after  she  was  tenderly 
beloved  in  that  body  of  women.  In  a  short  while 
she  was  elected  to  be  Superintendent  of  the 
World's  W.  C.  T.  U.  Flower  Mission,  which  she 
held  until  her  death. 

I  find  in  Jennie's  Treasure-Box  letters  of  con- 
gratulation from  all  States  and  several  foreign 
countries.  One  is  from  Pundita  Ramabai,  who 
visited  Jennie  in  our  home  and  later  sent  her 
from  India  an  autographed  copy  of  her  book, 
"The  High  Cast  India  Woman".'    Many  letters 

28 


passed  between  the  two.  I  have  also  from  this 
Box  a  letter  from  Hannah  Whitehall  Smith, 
author  of  "The  Christian's  Secret  of  a  Happy 
Life",  the  letter  introducing  Baroness  Wrede 
who  was  about  to  introduce  Flower  Mission 
methods  into  prisons  in  Finland.  Another  out- 
go from  Jennie's  little  white  bed  was  a  "Jennie 
Casseday  Flower  Mission"  in  Pretoria,  South 
Africa.  Still  another  was  organized  in  Rio  de 
Janerio,  Brazil. 

From  a  yellow,  old  English  magazine,  The 
Woman's  Herald,  I  clip  the  following,  written 
by  Lady  Henry  Somerset,  under  date  March, 
1893,  I  take  this: 

"Miss  Jennie  Casseday,  who  died  at  Louis- 
ville, Kentucky,  on  February  8,  was  a  remarkable 
illustration  of  the  power  of  spirit  over  matter 
and  of  thought  over  things.  For  thirty  years 
she  had  lain  on  her  little  white  bed,  drawn  up 
before  the  front  windows  of  the  old  home,  in  a 
beautiful  street  of  the  beautiful  southern  city 
where  she  was  born.  Her  sufferings  were  great, 
and  weeks  at  a  time  continuous ;  but  the  worn 
face  had  a  smile  quite  beatific ;  the  little,  thin 
hand  had  clasped  the  hands  of  scores  of  America's 
greatest  and  best. 

"Letters  came  to  Miss  Casseday  from  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  world  where  White  Rib- 
bon misssionaries  had  gone,  and  to  all  of  them 
she  returned  personal  answers.  She  was  so  much 
beloved  in  her  own  city  that  constant  tokens  of 
goodwill  came  to  her  room.    The  telephone  com- 

29 


pany  placed  at  her  service  one  of  their  best  in- 
struments ;  this  company  put  her  in  communi- 
cation with  everything  that  was  of  interest  in 
the  great  gatherings  of  the  people ;  so  perfect  was 
the  instrument  that,  listening  to  her  favorite 
preacher  and  the  beautiful  music  on  Sunday 
morning,  she  did  not  lose  a  word  or  tone,  and 
could  even  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  officers  as 
they  passed  the  communion  bread  and  wine. 
White  Ribboners  from  all  parts  of  the  United 
States  were  wont  to  call  on  her  in  passing 
through  the  city.  On  one  of  her  recent  birthdays 
White  Ribboners  from  40  States  presented  her 
with  the  best  music  box  that  could  be  had,  and 
this  she  declared  was  one  of  the  greatest  bright- 
eners  her  life  had  known.  Remenyi,  the  violin- 
ist, played  in  her  room,  and  other  famous  instru- 
mental and  vocal  musicians  laid  their  beautiful 
gifts  at  her  feet.  Such  a  life  as  hers,  which 
might  have  been  spent  in  repining  and  obscurity, 
became  through  the  out-blossoming  of  the  Spirit 
of  God  one  of  the  most  radiant  and  perfect  flow- 
ers of  womanly  character  that  America  has  pro- 
duced in  this  century." 

Frances  Willard  once  publicly  declared  the 
W.  C.  T.  U.  Flower  Mission  department  to  be 
"the  most  lovely  line  of  Christian  endeavor 
among  all  the  forty-six  of  our  branchings  out." 
Of  Jennie  Casseday  herself,  Miss  Willard  wrote 
to  a  leading  paper,  in  1893 — the  year  of  Jen- 
nie's death: 


30 


"I  never  think  except  with  pure  delight  of  that 
great  life,  so  gently  lived,  that  strong  and  saintly 
soul  who  found  so  heavenly  sweet  the  uses  of 
adversity.  To  her  all  life  was  to  be  lived  out,  in 
whatsoever  world,  with  fervent  faith,  with  rest- 
ful reverence  and  loyal  love  toward  man  and 
God.  She  preached  sermons  more  eloquent,  from 
that  little  white  bed,  than  bishops  do  in  great 
cathedrals.  The  days  drive  on ;  the  battle  of 
life  deepens ;  we  have  our  work  to  do ;  but  shad- 
ows as  they  lengthen  point  toward  the  growing 
brightness  of  the  skies.  It  will  not  be  long  till 
we  shall  see  how,  'fair  against  the  sunset,  stands 
the  figure  with  its  beckoning  hands'  of  our  be- 
loved and  sacred  Queen  of  Human  Flowers." 

In  an  old  magazine  I  find  this  statement  from 
Miss  Esther  Pugh:  "Who  but  Frances  Willard 
could  have  brought  Jennie  Casseday,  the  sainted 
founder  of  the  Flower  Mission,  within  touch, 
from  her  couch  of  suffering,  of  all  the  gaols  and 
penitentiaries  of  the  land?" 

A  "Willing  Worker"  who  was  proposing  to 
organize  a  Flower  Mission  in  a  Western  City, 
wrote  Jennie  to  ask  if  she  thought  her  work 
among  prisoners  was  worth  while ;  if  she  actu- 
ally knew  of  any  real  good,  permanent  good, 
that  came  from  it.  Here  in  part  is  Jennie's 
reply : 

"I  was  lying  here  the  Saturday  before  Christ- 
mas, arranging  those  little  last  things  planned 
for  the  day's  pleasure,  when  my  attention  was 
called  to  two  young  men  coming  up  the  front 

3i 


walk  to  our  door.  My  nurse  admitted  them,  and 
as  they  walked  to  my  bedside,  I  extended  my 
hand  and  gave  them  welcome.  They  seemed 
somewhat  embarrassed,  and  one  of  them  said: 
"Miss  Casseday,  we  are  two  ex-convicts,  just 
from  the  penitentiary  at  Frankfort.  We  have 
worked  out  our  sentence,  and  could  not  pass 
pass  through  Louisville  without  coming  to  thank 
you  for  what  you  have  done  for  the  prisoners, 
and  to  tell  you  how  much  good  your  work  is 
doing."  You  can  appreciate  my  feelings  and 
the  readiness  with  which  I  recognized  my  oppor- 
tunity. I  urged  them  to  be  seated,  and  with  all 
the  tenderness  of  a  heart  touched  with  gratitude 
to  God,  I  plead  with  them  to  come  to  Christ,  to 
begin  over  and  and  by  the  grace  of  God  to  make 
true  men  of  themselves.  I  wish  I  was  able  to 
give  you  all  our  conversation,  but  whilst  it  was 
a  new  experience  to  me,  it  was  just  such  a  talk 
as  you  have  often  had  with  such  poor  fellows. 

"One  of  them  began  to  tell  me  his  crime,  or 
why  he  was  sentenced,  but  I  answered  promptly, 
"You  do  not  have  to  tell  me  your  crime,  my 
friend  ;  not  that  I  am  not  interested  in  you.  I  am. 
But  all  that  is  past.  The  past  belongs  to  God,  and 
my  work  cannot  help  that,  but  you  must  take  it 
to  Him.  My  work  is  for  the  present  and  future ; 
and  it  is  to-day  I  want  you  to  begin  a  new  life." 
When  they  rose  to  go,  as  I  again  took  their 
hands  in  parting,  one  of  them  said  to  me,  "Miss 
C,  do  not  ever  give  up  your  work.  It  is  the  day 
in   the    whole   year,   and   I    wish   you    went   at 

32 


Thanksgiving,  too."  You  may  be  sure  I  an- 
swered him  with  a  full  heart,  that  I  will  never 
give  up  my  work.  If  ever  before  I  could  have 
done  so  this  visit  has  sanctified  it  to  me ;  and  as 
long  as  I  have  a  tongue  to  speak,  and  a  hand  to 
write,  I  will  consecrate  it  to  God's  service  for 
these  poor  unfortunates. 

"As  if  this  was  not  enough,  that  glorious  Father 
of  ours,  whose  gifts  are  so  far  beyond  our  ask- 
ing or  thinking,  added  yet  more  to  my  good  time, 
and  on  Christmas  Day,  amongst  the  great  num- 
ber of  gifts,  were  a  few  letters  which  I  laid 
aside  until  a  more  convenient  season  for  reading. 
After  the  hubbub  had  somewhat  quieted  down, 
and  the  children  were  all  gone,  I  opened  my 
letters  and  found  one  from  a  prisoner  in  Thomas- 
ton,  Maine,  who  said  he  'had  been  considered 
the  worst  and  most  desperate  convict  in  the 
Maine  penitentiary';  and  then  giving  me  a  little 
account  of  his  life,  which  was  touching  in  the 
extreme,  he  told  me  that  he  is  in  for  life ;  he  has 
been  there  for  fifteen  years  and  is  now  thirty-two 
years  old.  And  he  closed  by  saying,  "You  see  I 
have  been  learning  the  lessons  necessary  to  my 
spiritual  welfare  at  a  hard  school,  and  I  was  an 
uncommonly  dull  scholar;  but  my  teacher  knew 
what  I  needed,  and  I  recognize  and  accept  His 
guiding  hand." 

"The  following  year,  on  New  Year  Day,  1889. 
came  a  letter  from  a  Chicago  prisoner,  from 
which  I  cull  the  following: 

33 


'The  past  three  June  Cjth's  found  me  among 
the  unfortunate  men  who  through  sin  have  fallen, 
and  through  the  decree  of  the  law  are  separated 
from  society  and  placed  under  restraint,  and  as 
time  rolled  on  and  the  day  came  when  I  was  to 
regain  my  liberty,  and  again  take  my  place  in 
life,  assuming  its  manifold  duties,  I  feel  as  if  I 
ought  to  let  you  know  how  much  comfort  the 
little  bouquet  of  flowers  and  that  kind  message 
from  Him  who  careth  for  sinners  brought.  I 
was  free;  never  did  I  know  before  what  that 
word  meant.  'If  the  Son  therefore  shall  make 
you  free,  ye  shall  be  free  indeed.'  But  thank 
God  'old  things  have  passed  away;  behold  all 
things  have  become  new.'  Last  June  9th,  return- 
ing from  my  day's  duties,  I  found  the  flowers 
and  message ;  my  heart  was  filled  with  thanks- 
giving and  praise.  For  it  is  of  much  comfort  to 
find  that  we  are  remembered;  and  the  cheers 
that  went  up  from  my  many  fellow-unfortunates 
will  never  be  forgotten,  and  the  thoughts  of  it 
will  ever  stimulate  me  to  a  better  and  more 
devoted  following  of  Christ.  I  desire  to  share 
in  His  great  battle,  and  my  life  is  consecrated  to 
His  service." 

Later  in  the  same  year  came  a  letter  to  Jennie 
from  a  prisoner  in  a  western  penitentiary,  evi- 
dently a  man  of  culture,  perhaps  a  forger,  who 
said  he  had  been  "converted"  by  the  story  of 
Jennie's  life,  by  her  letters  to  the  prisoners,  and 
by  God's  curious  ways  of  dealing  with  children 

34 


of  the  Covenant,  of  whom  he  was  one.    He  closed 
his  letter  with  the  following  poem : 

Mine  may  not  be  the  shining  of  the  sun, 
Lighting  the  pathway  of  great  worlds  afar; 

No  more  the  moon's  full  light,  when  day  is  done, 

Nor  yet  the  golden  twinkling  of  a  star ; 

But   if  a  glowworm's   soft  and   steady  light 
Be  only  mine  to  give  in  sweet  content — 

A  tiny  glowworm's  shining  in  the  night — 
To  break  the  gloom  for  some  poor  pilgrim  sent, 

Perchance   in  ways   Time's   saintly   feet   have  trod, 

I  still  may  light  some  soul  to  Heaven  and  God. 

I  am  what  God  has  made  me,  and  I  know 

I  have  a  place  and  time,  a  work  and  way ; 
So  with  a  happy  heart  I   would  bestow 

My  humbler  meed  of  blessing  while   I  may, 
Content  each  golden  day  to  find  my  place, 

Do  well  my  work,  and  mark  my  way  with  love, 
To  be  what  God  would  have  me,  by  His  grace, 

Serenely  shining  to  the  hills  above. 
And  there,  as  His  great  blessing,  I   shall  see 
Crowned  ones,  won  to  their  crowning  by  my  plea ! 

It  is  to  Jennie's  credit  that  never,  not  even  to 
me,  did  she  divulge  the  name  of  any  one  of  her 
Prisoner-Friends.  One  man  known  to  me  only 
by  his  number,  wrote  to  her  constantly  after  he 
had  worked  his  time  out  in  a  western  Federal 
prison  and  had  become  reinstated  in  society. 
Often  he  sent  her  goodly  checks  for  some  one  of 
her  causes.  He  must  have  kept  in  touch  with 
her  life,  for  after  her  death  no  word  ever  came 
from  him. 

Jennie  had  been  buried  27  years,  when,  in  Port- 
land, Maine,  in  1920,  Mr.  Samuel  D.  Haynes,  con- 

35 


nected  with  a  large  automobile  company  at  De- 
troit, addressed  an  audience  of  4,000  people,  fellow 
citizens  of  Mr.  Haynes.  He  told  that  he  had 
served  for  thirty-four  years  in  prison  for  murder 
in  the  first  degree.  Part  of  his  address  referred 
to  Miss  Casseday  and  was  copied  into  the  Louis- 
ville Courier-Journal  of  July  2,  1920.  I  copy 
from  that  article : 

"One  friend  that  I  had  I  shall  never  forget," 
he  said.  "That  was  Miss  Jennie  Casseday,  of 
Louisville,  Ky.,  who,  I  might  say,  was  kinder 
and  more  generous  to  me  than  any  other  person 
in  this  world.  After  being  additionally  punished 
by  five,  and  later  fifteen,  months  of  solitary  con- 
finement for  my  attempts  to  escape  from  the 
Maine  State  Prison,  I  had  a  long  fight  with  my- 
self as  to  whether  I  would  submit  to  this  punish- 
ment or  be  killed  in  another  attempt. 

"During  this  year  I  did  a  lot  of  thinking  and 
when  released  from  'solitary,'  I  wrote  to  Miss 
Casseday  of  my  desire  to  do  something  toward 
a  different  life,  with  different  ideas.  The  advice 
I  received  from  her,  from  Father  Phelan,  and 
from  others  was  indeed  beautiful." 

Haynes  quoted  excerpts  from  letters  written 
to  him  by  Miss  Casseday.  "Miss  Casseday  first 
thought  I  was  a  Christian  and  when  I  wrote  her 
that  I  was  not  at  this  time  she  replied  in  this 
manner,  'Never  mind  what  you  are;  try  to  be 
just  what  I  think  you  are.'  " 


36 


A  Shanty  Boat  Mission 

A  MOST  interesting  development  of  Flower 
.Mission  work  was  one  that  grew  up  along 
the  shore  of  the  Ohio  river  at  Cincinnati. 
At  one  time  there  was  quite  a  fleet  of  old  aban- 
doned boats  under  the  bridge  and  along  the  waters 
between  Kentucky  and  Cincinnati.  These  boats 
were  soon  commandeered  by  the  poorer  class  of 
people  who  live  by  their  wits,  fishing,  catching 
floating  logs  and  drifts,  drinking,  moving  along 
as  best  they  could.  They  turned  the  old  hulks 
into  houseboats  and  lived  in  them,  having  a  very 
social  time  and  forming  a  colony  unto  themselves. 
A  devout  lady,  a  member  of  the  Flower  Mission 
of  Cincinnati,  Mrs.  Ida  Isgrigg,  saw  the  advan- 
tages of  such  a  colony  for  mission  purposes  and 
she  began  her  work  through  the  ministry  of 
flowers.  The  colony  had  a  name  of  its  own — 
"Shanty  Boats."  I  now  quote  from  a  letter 
written  by  Mrs.  Isgrigg  to  Miss  Casseday,  dated 
January  29,  1891 : 

"On  Flower  Mission  Day,  while  giving  our 
flowers  to  the  prisoners  in  the  jail,  we  met  with 
a  woman  from  Shanty  Boats  who  invited  us  to 
come  to  her  boat  and  hold  meetings,  and  from 
this  we  have  worked  up  a  Sunday-school  and  a 
good  mission  among  the  boats.  There  are  a  num- 
ber of  them.     We  now  want  to  give  it  a  name, 

37 


and  ask  that  we  may  use  your  name,  and  call  it 
the  Jennie  Casseday  Mission." 

"In  a  letter  just  received,  our  superintendent 
there  says:  "I  will  tell  you  what  we  have  been 
doing  this  week.  On  last  Sunday  night  we  had 
a  glorious  meeting.  Sixty-five  persons  were  right 
around  us,  and  twenty-five  on  the  railroad  bank ; 
fifteen  stood  up  for  prayer;  the  school  had 
twenty-five  scholars.  From  an  ironing-board  we 
have  seats  made  under  the  trees  by  one  of  the 
men  who  lives  in  a  boat.  On  Wednesday  after- 
noons a  dear  woman,  Miss  Dicky,  gathers  the 
children  and  teaches  them  songs  and  their  les- 
sons for  the  following  Sunday.  She  is  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  Presbyterian  minister ;  she  has  been  a 
missionary  to  China  and  has  just  come  from 
Salt  Lake  City,  where  she  has  been  engaged  in 
the  work.  While  the  children  were  singing  on 
Wednesday,  a  wreck  of  a  man,  a  tramp,  came  up 
and  stood  by  a  tree  and  listened,  and  was  deeply 
touched.  When  they  were  through,  he  came  up 
to  Miss  Dicky  and  gave  her  a  dime,  saying,  'I 
love  to  hear  them  sing.  I  have  a  praying  mother, 
and  if  she  knew  of  her  boy,  how  sad  it  would 
make  her;  but  she  is  in  heaven.  I  am  alone. 
Take  the  dime  and  do  what  you  please  with  it.' 
Miss  Dicky  had  him  repeat  two  verses,  'The 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ,'  and  'God  so  loved  the 
world.'  After  he  said  the  verses,  he  said,  'Here 
is  fifty  cents ;  give  me  forty  cents  back  and  you 
may  have  another  ten  cents.  I  like  this.'  Miss 
Dicky  said  'Thank  you,  this  one  will  do  for  this 

time.' 

38 


"He  was  only  a  tramp,  but  he  had  been  some 
praying-  mother's  boy,  and  in  all  his  wickedness 
the  old  love  for  the  good  was  still  in  his  heart. 
So  from  the  tramp's  dime  a  fund  was  started 
toward  buying  a  tent.  We  needed  to  have  our  own 
place — our  services  were  held  under  umbrellas. 
An  old  fisherman  tried  to  get  a  tent,  but  did  not 
succeed.  Mr.  I.  suggested  a  quarter-master's 
tent ;  then  the  next  thing,  how  could  we  get  it  ? 
Inspiration  from  the  tramp's  dime  gave  us  a  start. 
Miss  R.  and  I  started,  and  in  an  hour,  perhaps 
less,  we  collected  $12.60,  almost  half  enough. 

"It  does  seem  that  the  dear  Lord  is  just  lead- 
ing us  on.  Some  would  say  to  me,  'Were  you  not 
afraid  of  your  lives?'  There  is  One  who  is  able 
to  take  care  of  His  children.  I  wish  Christians 
could  see  the  warm  welcome  we  get  when  we  go 
among  these  people.  One  man  has  not  been 
drunk  for  two  weeks,  another  for  a  week.  With 
God  helping  them  I  hope  they  will  never  touch 
liquor  again.  So  the  blessed  work  goes  on.  We 
only  scatter  the  seed,  and  the  Savior  will  reap 
the  harvest." 

"The  windows  of  heaven  are  open  toward  our 
Casseday  Mission,  on  the  bank  of  the  beautiful 
Ohio,  and  showers  of  blessing  have  been  poured 
out  upon  the  people.  Hundreds  flock  to  this 
place  of  worship,  and  many  have  been  won- 
drously  saved.  Christmas  day  meant  to  them  a 
Redeemer.  Mrs.  Isgrigg  was  with  them,  look- 
ing after  their  physical  and  spiritual  welfare,  and 
praising  "God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow"  on 

39 


a  new  organ.  About  two  years  ago  the  first 
little  Sunday-school  class  was  formed  around  an 
ironing  board.  What  has  God  wrought !  Con- 
gregations have  now  outgrown  even  the  "tent" 
which  we  once  thought  capacious — but  as  a  dear 
sister  says,  so  we  believe,  "God  is  going  to  give 
us  a  new,  commodious  place,"  and  we  are  now 
looking  forward  to  the  laying  of  its  "corner- 
stone." Nearly  two  hundred  gospel  services  have 
been  held  during  the  year  at  the  Casseday  Mis- 
sion, Twin  Mission,  on  Sixth  street,  House  of 
Detention,  and  other  places.  No  more  devoted 
workers  are  found  than  Mrs.  Mygot,  who  has 
fought  the  battle  of  prison  work  for  sixteen 
years ;  Mrs.  Skinner,  our  evangelistic  gleaner  of 
souls,  and  Mother  Lawrence,  whom  we  all  revere 
and  love.  One  new  boat  has  been  consecrated  to 
the  Lord." 

This  Shanty-Boat  Mission  grew  and  advanced 
marvelously  and  produced  Christian  men  and 
women  many  of  whom  for  years  kept  in  loving 
touch  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Isgrigg  after  they  had 
reached  larger  lives  and  pretty  homes. 

I  have  given  much  space  to  Jennie  Casseday's 
Flower  Mission  work  partly  because  it  was  her 
first  public  benefaction  and  largely  because  she 
foresaw  its  possibilities  as  a  world-wide  and 
perennial  opportunity  for  personal  Christian 
contact  with  every  class  and  condition  of  society. 
Flowers  carry  their  own  appeal,  and  a  flower 
mission  may  be  grafted  on  any  kind  of  philan- 
thropic or  utilitarian  organization,  to  its  ever- 
lasting good. 

40 


The  World's  Flower  Missions  go  on  under 
the  splendid  organization  of  the  World's  W.  C. 
T.  U.,  as  well  as  in  local  organizations  not  so 
connected,  and,  while  the  Louisville  Flower  Mis- 
sion has  perhaps  not  maintained  Miss  Casseday's 
highest  ideal  for  it  in  all  particulars,  her  ideal  has 
been  reached  and  held  aloft  all  over  the  world. 

Just  fifteen  years  after  Miss  Casseday  had 
become  President  of  the  National  Flower  Mis- 
sion, her  Department  reported  to  the  National 
Convention  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.  that  the  Flower 
Mission  Department  had  distributed  more  than 
1,555,466  bouquets,  34,972  growing  plants,  403,- 
691  text  cards,  1,398,122  pages  of  Flower  Mis- 
sion literature,  38,350  tumblers  and  jars  of  jelly 
and  preserves,  15,788  bushels  of  fruit  and  vege- 
tables and  134,211  articles  of  clothing;  317,735 
visits  have  been  made  to  the  poor  and  sick,  be- 
sides 14,262  to  public  institutions,  while  19,505 
drives  and  outings  have  been  given  poor  children, 
invalids  and  other  worthy  ones. 

It  is  with  deep  regret  that  I  eliminate  the 
names  and  tale  of  the  many  beautiful  spirits  who 
by  their  serviceable  co-operation  helped  Jennie 
to  make  her  various  benefices  a  success.  She 
would  not  like  it  that  I  leave  these  out,  but 
many  motives  urge  me  to  refrain  from  mention- 
ing them.  One  personality  winds  in  and  out,  like 
a  weaver's  shuttle,  through  almost  all  of  Jennie's 
good  works,  helping  them,  blessing  them,  and 
still  carrying  on  some  of  them  in  an  enlarged 
way — Miss  Jennie  C.  Benedict,  Louisville. 

41 


I  will  close  my  story  of  the  Flower  Mission 
with  a  quotation  from  that  wonderful  man, 
Jacob  Riis.  It  is  a  part  of  his  report  to  a  public 
service  committee  in  New  York  City.     He  said: 

"I  have  seen  an  armful  of  daisies  keep  the 
peace  of  a  block  better  than  a  policeman  with 
his  club.  Whenever  a  garden  is  put  in  a  tene- 
ment block  it  does  the  duty  of  a  dozen  police 
clubs.  In  proportion  as  it  spreads,  the  neigh- 
borhood takes  oris  a  more  orderly  character.  As 
the  green  dies  out  of  the  landscape,  the  police 
find  more  to  do.  The  change  of  Tompkins  Square 
from  a  sand  lot  into  a  beautiful  park  put  an  end 
for  good  and  all  to  the  'bread-or-blood'  riots  of 
which  it  used  to  be  the  scene." 


42 


The  Order  of  'King '$  Daughters 

JENNIE  CASSEDAY'S  second  large  welfare 
work  was  to  establish  from  her  bedside  an 
Order  of  King's  Daughters  in  Louisville.  It 
was  a  new  conception  of  service  at  that  time — 
new  even  in  New  York  where  it  originated,  and 
wholly  unknown  in  Kentucky  or  the  South.  Jen- 
nie was  at  this  time  carrying  loads  of  care  which 
might^easily  have  broken  down  strong  men ;  but 
her  rare  gift  of  developing  whatever  she  touched 
soon  made  for  the  Order,  in  Kentucky  and  the 
South,  wonderful  growth.  In  fact  there  was 
within  the  Order  itself  a  germ  so  God-implanted 
that  it  could  not  help  growing.  Its  beginnings 
were  on  this  wise : 

In  New  York  in  1886  the  Spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  hearts  of  ten  women  living  in  the  high- 
est circle  of  social  and  religious  life,  and  they 
formed  a  habit  of  meeting  weekly  for  a  season 
of  prayer.  One  January  day,  at  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Margaret  Bottome,  a  wonderful  thing  hap- 
pened. It  was  much  like  the  Day  of  Pentecost, 
for  as  the  women  knelt  in  prayer  each  one  felt 
the  living,  guiding,  abiding  presence  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  On  rising  from  their  knees  with  stream- 
ing eyes,  Mrs.  Mary  Lowe  Dickinson  said: 
''What  do  we  here,  idle  ?  Our  Lord's  New  Com- 
mandment has  two  branches — love  and  service. 

43 


Our  swelling  hearts  and  streaming  eyes  attest 
our  love.  Now  shall  we  not  band  together  for 
service  also?"  Then  and  there  these  ten  newly 
baptized  women  reconsecrated  themselves  to 
God  and  humanity.  At  first  they  took  the  sim- 
ple name — Christian  Sisterhood  of  Service,  but 
at  a  later  meeting  Mrs.  Seth  Low  suggested  the 
name  "Order  of  King's  Daughters"  taking  the 
idea  from  Psalm  45,  verses  13  and  9.  The 
slogan  adopted  was  "In  His  Name",  and  the 
watchword  was 

Look  up  and  not  down, 
Look    forward    and    not    back, 
Look  out  and  not  in, 
And  lend  a  hand. 

I  think  there  was  never  another  organization 
so  simple,  so  sincere,  so  unostentatious,  and  so 
spiritually  conceived.  The  original  TEN  did 
not  like  to  have  it  spoken  of  as  an  organization, 
or  a  society,  or  as  anything  but  a  silent  personal 
branch  of  Christian  service,  planning  for  reality 
in  religion  and  for  a  faith  made  vital  through 
daily  life  and  service.  They  banded  because  only 
thus  could  they  secure  team  work  in  service,  or 
arrange  that  women  engaged  in  no  Christian 
work  should  be  able  to  find  some  line  where  their 
abilities  could  meet  an  existing  need.  The  "Ten" 
had  then  no  thought  of  a  world  wide  organi- 
zation, but  only  that  each  ten  forming  should 
become  the  centre  of  a  great  spiritual  life  and 
the  nucleus  of  some  other  little  group,  in  ever 
widening   circles.      No   form   of   creed   was   re- 

44 


quired,  no  supervision  as  to  choice  of  labor,  no 
scrutiny  into  theological  views.  It  was  to  be 
an  Order  Christlike  in  its  simplicity  and  univer- 
sality. It  summoned  women  who  desired  to  enter 
its  ministry  to  greater  and  sweeter  service  in  and 
beyond  their  own  churches. 

But  the  founders  of  the  Order  could  not  count 
upon  so  spontaneous  and  almost  universal  a  re- 
sponse as  that  which  met  their  call  to  a  higher 
type  of  Christian  living.  Notwithstanding  every 
effort  to  keep  out  of  the  public  press,  to  avoid 
public  meetings,  to  maintain  a  Sisterhood  of 
silent  service,  the  Order  rapidly  outgrew  all 
expectations,  for  the  hearts  of  hundreds  of 
women  sprang  toward  it. 

It  was  a  bonfire  lighted  among  prepared  kind- 
lings. It  almost  got  beyond  the  loving  pace  of 
its  founders.  At  its  third  annual  convention  the 
jeweler  who  made  the  silver  crosses,  which  had 
become  the  badge  of  the  Order,  reported  that  he 
had  delivered  to  various  circles  of  King's  Daugh- 
ters 97,256  crosses,  which  meant  that  97,256 
women  were  wearing  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ 
every  day,  all  day,  everywhere. 

It  was  purposely  a  loosely  organized  body,  the 
King's  Daughter  being  responsible  only  to  the 
King  for  her  chosen  work  and  service.  Often 
have  I  seen  girls,  tempted  to  untruth  or  temper, 
or  slack  in  best  things,  loosen  their  crosses  and 
almost  in  tears  put  them  away  until  a  better  spirit 
should  come  upon  them.  The  very  elasticity  of 
the   organization    was   in    its    favor    for   women 

45 


from  fifteen  to  fifty  flocked  to  its  standards  in 
cities  and  townships  to  be  classified,  set  at  work, 
inspired,  made  centres  of  righteousness.  Hence 
we  have  such  pregnant  titles  as  these:  Light 
Bearers ;  Send  Me  Circle ;  Whatsoever  Circle ; 
Inasmuch  Circle;  Prayer  Circle  (for  busy  girls 
who  have  no  time  for  active  work),  etc.,  etc. 
Panoplied  with  such  names  and  aims  King's 
Daughters  go  to  and  fro  in  the  earth,  blessing 
and  being  blessed. 

I  think  if  the  newly-born  Order  had  been 
compelled  at  once  to  take  a  national  name  it 
would  have  called  itself  The  Right  Hand  Cir- 
cle— "Let  not  your  left  hand  know  what  your 
right  hand  doeth" — so  desirous  was  it  to  move 
silently  and  steadily  upon  human  hearts,  with  no 
herald  and  no  plaudits. 

At  first  the  small  groups  of  self-consecrated 
women  called  their  organizations  "TENS";  but 
quickly  it  outgrew  the  fitness  of  such  a  name 
and  grouped  itself  into  the  larger  form  of 
"CIRCLES".  Soon  the  bodies  became  too  large 
for  even  that  terminology  and  the  name 
BRANCHES  came  into  local  existence — 
branches  of  a  great  and  flourishing  tree,  grown 
from  a  tiny  mustard  seed,  as  previsioned  by  our 
Lord.  I  have  the  statistics  for  a  year,  when 
one  single  Branch  (4,451  members)  spent  $30,- 
000  in  good  works  for  the  King's  causes. 

Of  course  a  more  composite  form  of  organiza- 
tion became  necessary  for  the  great  national 
movement,  if  it  could  hope  to  keep  in  touch  with 

46 


its  widely  scattered  membership,  to  know  them 
and  be  able  tp  communicate  with  them.  Its  cor- 
respondence/had become  something  unbelievable. 
So,  in  rOGO;  the  Order  was  incorporated,  having 
headquarters  in  New  York  and  issuing  a  monthly 
magazine — The  Silver  Cross. 

Now  for  the  tale  of  how  this  quiet,  leavening 
Order  got  into  the  South  from  its  Northern  birth- 
place: Late  in  1886  I  was  spending  a  week-end 
in  Camden,  New  Jersey,  with  Mrs.  E.  V.  Garri- 
son. My  co-guest  was  Miss  Jennie  Cattell,  su- 
perintendent of  the  Margaret  Louisa  home,  New 
York.  She  had  been  in  honored  and  tender  touch 
with  the  new  organization  and  came  to  us  with 
its  chrism  on  her  forehead.  She  had  organized 
a  Ten  in  her  home  city,  Philadelphia,  and  she 
asked  me  to  be  a  member  of  it.  I  gladly  ac- 
cepted this  honor.  When  I  returned  home,  wear- 
ing my  purple  ribbon  (I  think  the  silver  crosses 
had  not  yet  been  made)  I  told  Jennie  Casseday 
all  the  wonderful  story  of  how  the  Order  be- 
gan, and  how  its  basic  motive  was  TO  BE  rather 
than  TO  DO,  the  Doing  to  spring  spontaneously 
out  of  the  Being.  Jennie's  spirit  at  once  sprang 
to  the  front  with  desire  to  help  this  noble  move- 
ment. She  ran  over  in  her  mind  the  personali- 
ties of  those  whom  she  always  depended  upon 
for  co-operation  in  her  schemes ;  and  the  per- 
sonality of  Jennie  Benedict  appealed  to  her  as 
the  one  best  fitted  and  equipped  for  so  delicate 
a  task.  Miss  Benedict  came  at  her  call  and 
they   conferred   long  and   skillfully   over    W ays. 

47 


They  were  never  women  to  worry  over  Means. 
They  would  examine  the  value  of  a  proposed 
Christian  work,  weigh  it,  plan  it  out,  and  then 
simply  expect  the  Means  would  arrive — in  God's 
good  time.  At  Jennie  Casseday's  bedside  we 
three  laid  the  foundations,  deep  and  wide,  for 
the  great  work  of  the  King's  Daughters  in  Louis- 
ville— a  work  which  soon  ran  like  lighted  bon- 
fires, all  over  Kentucky,  then  all  over  the  South- 
land. 

King's  Daughters  outran  Flower  Missions, 
sometimes  were  caught  up  with  them  and  mo- 
saiced  with  them  into  a  beautiful  design.  Often- 
est,  however,  the  King's  work  took  leadership 
and  wove  into  its  own  fabric  divers  beautiful 
colors  and  patterns. 

No  one  can  estimate  the  good  accomplished 
by  the  Order  of  King's  Daughters  in  its  un- 
heralded, individualistic  ways.  It  is  now  a  strong 
and  heroic  part  of  God's  far-flung  battle  line. 
Louisville  has  to-day  some  forty  circles,  and  it 
is  abreast  of  other  cities  in  both  membership  and 
activities. 

From  its  organization  in  Louisville  to  the  day 
of  Jennie  Casseday's  death,  and  from  the  day  of 
Jennie  Casseday's  death  to  the  present  moment, 
the  King's  Daughters  of  Louisville  and  Ken- 
tucky were  and  are  foremost  in  helping  on  all 
sorts  of  good  works,  both  those  which  are  well 
known  and  those  which  lie  just  at  the  threshold 
and  are  helped  and  encouraged  silently. 

48 


Every  June  9th  there  go  some  groups  of 
King's  Daughters  out  to  beautiful  Cave  Hill 
Cemetery,  carrying  flowers  to  her  who  has  been 
dead  for  twenty-eight  years.  How  far  that  little 
candle  threw  its  beams !  Standing  about  the  lit- 
tle green  hillock  these  women  and  men  reconse- 
crate themselves  "In  His  Name"  to  God  and 
Humanity. 


49 


Summer  Homes  for  Business 
Women 

WE  now  come  to  a  bestowal  of  Jennie  Cas- 
seday's  which  was  probably  the  nearest 
her  heart  of  all  those  she  created  or  set 
on  foot.     At  all  events  she  gave  her  life  for  it, 
as  the  conclusion  of  her  story  will  prove. 

It  grieves  me  to  omit  the  names  of  the  splen- 
did army  of  men  and  women  who  were  her 
helpers,  co-operators,  advisers,  and  financial 
backers  in  this  as  in  other  causes.  I  wish  I  could 
print  in  letters  of  gold  a  list  of  all  those  who 
greatly  served  to  make  her  various  works  possi- 
ble. She  called  these  people  her  heart  and 
brains,  her  hands  and  feet ;  and  such  they  were. 
Two  names  stand  out  in  bas-relief  in  the  erec- 
tion of  the  beautiful  charity  now  to  be  told  of — 
A.  G.  Munn  and  John  Bacon.  Hand  in  hand 
the  three  walked  until  God  called  first  Jennie 
and  then  Mr.  Munn  to  a  well-earned  reward, 
Mr.  Munn  leaving  his  mantle  on  Mr.  Bacon,  who 
still  lives,  still  blesses,  still  carries  on,  in  his 
silent  and  reserved  way,  the  summer  home  for 
busy  women  which  he  and  Mr.  Munn  and  Jennie 
Casseday  fashioned  so  long  ago.  I  often  fancy 
that  the  other  two,  disembodied  now,  watch  with 
loving  interest  Mr.  Bacon's  thoughtful  provid- 
ings  for  their  common  chosen  task. 

50 


The  story  of  "Rest  Cottage"  is  like  this:  One 
clay,  when  Jennie  was  just  grown  and  had  all 
the  world  before  her,  she  had  some  dresses  be- 
ing made  for  a  watering-place  summering,  and 
she  went  to  a  dressmaking  establishment  where 
they  made  dresses  like  dreams.  By  some  mistake 
she  was  taken  to  the  work  room,  on  the  top 
floor,  instead  of  to  the  daintily  furnished  fitting 
rooms  of  Madame's  apartments.  The  work  room 
was  a  hot,  square  room,  right  under  a  tin  roof, 
with  blindless  windows  all  a-row  to  the  midday 
sun.  Here  human  toilers  sat  and  span  to  make 
"creations"  for  rich  young  women.  That  was 
long  before  the  days  of  women  clerks,  office 
girls,  women  in  business.  Flushed,  tired,  faces 
looked  up  at  Jennie  as  she  was  unfortunately 
ushered  into  their  midst.  In  two  corners  were 
coal  stoves,  which  heated  the  irons  and  the 
June  atmosphere  with  equal  indifference.  The 
irons  made  beautiful  the  garments  but  made  pain- 
ful the  breathing  of  the  seamstresses.  The  whole 
scene  was  a  revelation  to  Jennie  Casseday.  At 
the  time,  she  was  not  aware  that  it  had  made  a 
lasting  impression  upon  her,  but  in  fact  she  never 
forgot  it.  Many  years  after,  when  a  poor  con- 
sumptive sewing  woman  who  had  been  a  guest 
at  Jennie's  summer  home  for  working  women 
and  who  had  died  in  harness,  left  Jennie  in  her 
will  as  a  souvenir  of  her  gratitude,  a  silver  spoon 
which  she  had  had  made  especially  for  the  pur- 
pose out  of  her  worn-out  silver  thimbles,  Jennie 
recalled  to  me,  with  eyes  full  of  hot  tears,  that 
stifling  room  under  the  tin  roof,  filled  with  girls 

51 


whose  feet  scarcely  left  the  treadle  all  day  long. 
Jennie  knew  weariness  herself.  He  was  a  daily 
companion  of  hers ;  and  by  this  time  she  had 
come  also  to  know  the  pinch  of  need:  so  the 
thought  nearest  her  heart  was  a  thought  of  rest. 

Not  rest  for  herself.  She  knew  that  seemed 
not  to  be  God's  will  for  her,  the  reason  for  which 
must  be  left  to  the  "Thou  shalt  know  here- 
after". But  might  she  not  compass  rest  for 
others,  for  sewing  women,  and  for  people  when 
work  shut  down  and  the  August  heat  made  of 
the  little  homes  real  furnaces? 

And  so  she  called  up  her  "Hands  and  Feet, 
Bodies  and  Brains."  Together  we  planned  "REST 
COTTAGE" — a  summer  home  for  working 
girls.  She  named  it  "Rest  Cottage"  after  Fran- 
ces Willard's  home  at  Evanston.  She  had  al- 
ways thought  it  a  most  enticing  name.  It  was 
not  a  cottage  then,  but  a  Castle-in-the-Air :  it  is 
not  a  cottage  now.  It  seems  a  palace  to  many 
who  go  to  it.  It  was  paid  for  by  hundreds  of 
small  coins,  rattling  fast  into  the  slots  after  Mr. 
Munn  and  John  Bacon  had  put  up  the  first  thou- 
sands that  inspired  hope  and  insured  stability. 
But  Jennie  had  been  dead  four  years  before  the 
Cottage  owned  a  foot  of  soil.  It  is  her  Memorial 
and  her  Monument,  the  shrine  of  many  hearts. 

I  will  quote  Jennie's  own  account  of  the  origin 
of  this  home  of  the  heart.  It  is  a  part  of  a  re- 
port she  intended  for  the  directors  of  the  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  to  whose  care  she  wished  then  to  confide 
its  management.     I   cannot  remember  how  the 

52 


Y.  W.  let  it  slip  out  of  their  hands ;  but  they  did, 
and  it  has  long  been  an  independent,  incorpo- 
rated, organization,  beautifully  cared  for  by  its 
Directors  and  their  helpers,  with  Mrs.  E.  W.  Dol- 
finger  now  as  its  very  capable  President.  I  have 
long  thought  it  was  Providential  that  the  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  did  not  undertake  it  and  that  Jennie  had 
absolute  control  of  it  so  long  as  she  lived;  and 
I  am  certain  that  to-day  it  could  not  be  more 
ably  conducted  than  it  is. 

One  of  Jennie's  favorite  thoughts  was  this : 
"I  expect  to  pass  through  this  world  but  once. 
Any  good  thing  therefore  that  I  can  do  or  any 
kindness  I  can  show  to  any  human  being  let  me 
do  it  now.  Let  me  not  defer  it,  nor  neglect  it, 
for  I  shall  not  pass  this  way  again." 

She  once  wrote  me,  when  I  was  away  from 
home,  in  reply  to  a  letter  regarding  some  of  her 
good  works : 

"We  never  reach  the  full  joy  of  living  until  we 
learn  the  sweets  of  self-giving  for  Christ's  sake; 
until  we  realize  the  privilege  of  making  others 
happy,  and  are  ready,  no  matter  what  the  cost  or 
the  sacrifice,  to  serve  wherever  we  find  oppor- 
tunity. Therefore,  because  we  hope  our  Heavenly 
Father  may  bless  its  recital,  and  some  souls  may 
be  able  to  profit  by  the  'applied  Christianity'  of 
Rest  Cottage,  I  have  consented  to  tell  of  it." 

I  feel  greatly  inclined,  when  I  write  of  Jennie 
Casseday's  Rest  Cottage,  to  put  over  the  page  as 
a  heading — 

Jennie   Casseday,  The   Democrat, 
53 


as  I  felt  inclined  to  put  over  the  early  part  of 
her  story  the  heading — 

Jennie  Casseday,  Aristocrat. 

What  wonders  doth  God  work  through  the  mys- 
tery and  ministry  of  suffering. 

Here  follows  part  of  Miss  Casseday's  story  of 
the  beginning  of  Rest  Cottage  to  the  Board  of 
Directors : 

"In  the  summer  of  1882,  my  sister,  Mrs.  John 
Duncan,  went  with  one  of  the  managers  of  the 
Philadelphia  Women's  Christian  Association  to 
visit  Sea  Rest — the  holiday  home  of  the  Phila- 
delphia Association.  The  beautiful  account  she 
brought  of  this  home,  and  of  the  good  it  was 
accomplishing,  not  only  to  the  upbuilding  of  the 
physical  health  of  those  who  sought  its  hospital- 
ities, but  also  to  the  strengthening  of  their  spir- 
itual selves,  enthused  me,  and  it  has  been  my 
dear  wish  ever  since  that  Louisville  should  have 
a  country  home,  where  our  tired  girls  and 
women,  who  support  themselves  by  their  own 
brave  efforts,  could  get  reasonable  board  and  a 
sweet,  restful  week  during  the  heated  term. 
From  time  to  time,  I  tried  to  interest  one  and 
another,  who  had  money  and  strength,  to  con- 
sider the  need  for  such  a  summer  home,  but 
without  success. 

"Many  of  the  great  things  of  earth  have  been 
the  result  of  seeming  accident,  and  our  Rest  Cot- 
tage is  no  exception  to  the  rule.     One  day  in 

54 


April  a  young  friend  of  mine,  an  engineer  on 
the  L.  &  N.  Railroad,  dug  up  a  little  bit  of  the 
woods  his  train  passed  through  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Kentucky.  It  was  beautiful  'flowering' 
moss  and  fern,  with  pretty  vines  all  tangled  over 
and  through  them,  full  of  freshness  and  life.  I 
had  this  bit  of  woodland  planted  in  an  old- 
fashioned  soup-plate  and  placed  on  a  bracket 
that  was  attached  to  the  foot  of  my  bed,  where 
it  grew  and  'bloomed'  and  talked  to  me  of  its 
homes  and  haunts  in  the  outdoor  world,  where 
mosses  and  lichens,  ferns  and  wild  flowers,  lavish 
their  sweetness  on  the  air.  Each  day,  as  it 
smiled  up  into  my  face,  I  longed,  with  a  great 
longing,  to  go  see  where  it  grew,  to  wander 
through  the  woods  in  search  of 

"The  flower  stars  that  shine  amid  the  grass; 
White  stars,  and  pink,  and  blue, 
And  yellow-flower  stars,  too, 
On  every  pass.' 

"How  true  it  is  that 

'■  'They  who  can  wander  at  will 

Where  the  works  of  the  Lord  are  revealed, 
Little  guess  what  joy  can  be  found 

From  a  cowslip  out  of  a  field ; 
Flowers  to  spirits  imprisoned 

Are  all  they  can  know  of  the  spring; 
They  brighten  and   sweeten  the  thought 
Like  the  waft  of  an  angel's  wing. " 

'"Where  the  word  of  the  King  is,  there  is 
power.'  Equipped  with  this  thought  I  went  to 
work.    Right  here  let  me  say  that  the  Rest  Cot- 

55 


tage  plans  would  never  have  materialized,  except 
for  the  one  hundred  and  ten  friends  who  cheer- 
fully gave  of  their  money,  time,  influence  and 
other  gifts.  Its  real  success,  as  a  holiday  home, 
is  due  to  the  faithful  band  of  workers  whose 
labors  were  unremitting  and  whose  counsel  and 
co-operation  were  upholding  when  there  was  lit- 
tle to  stimulate  hope. 

"There  were  so  many  signal  answers  to  prayer 
in  this  wonderful  faith-work  that  it  is  difficult  to 
choose  which  to  relate  to  you ;  but  if  you  will 
bear  with  me,  I  should  like  to  tell  of  how  we 
needed  a  cow,  and  after  praying  that  our  Father 
would  incline  some  one's  heart  to  heed  the  call,  a 
little  notice  was  put  in  an  evening  paper;  and  of 
how,  within  two  days,  this  letter  came  from  a 
perfect  stranger:  'Seeing  that  your  very  worthy 
enterprise  is  in  need  of  the  use  of  a  cow,  I  have 
one  that  I  will  be  very  happy  to  let  you  have. 
She  gives  about  three  gallons  of  milk  a  day,  and 
will  give  more  when  turned  on  green  pasture.' 

"There  were  only  two  absolute  rules  for  the 
government  of  the  household.  First,  that  we 
should  have  every  day,  without  fail,  morning  and 
evening  prayer.  Second,  that  no  gentlemen 
should  be  allowed.  Whilst  no  one  was  compelled 
to  come  to  prayers,  it  was  our  hope  that  all  would 
do  so.  We  believed  that  music  would  add  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  services,  and  so  asked  God  for 
an  organ.  In  a  few  days  word  came  that  an 
organ  would  be  shipped  to  Rest  Cottage  as  a  loan 

56 


for  the  summer.    And  so,  on  and  on,  God  led  us, 
supplying  every  want  as  it  arose. 

"The  questions  have  often  been  asked,  'Did 
you  keep  your  house  full  of  guests?'  'How  did 
you  get  hold  of  them  ?'  'Did  they  pay  you  board, 
and  how  much?'  As  the  same  will  come  up  in 
your  work  next  summer  I  will  answer  here.  We 
called  on  different  circles  of  'King's  Daughters,' 
and  on  other  societies  of  young  folks  in  the 
churches,  to  make  this  their  care,  explaining  to 
them  that  their  only  duties  would  be  to  see  that 
the  Cottage  was  kept  full  of  guests ;  to  require 
one  dollar  a  week  from  all  who  were  able  to  pay 
it ;  to  make  as  many  good  times  and  put  as  many 
persons  in  them  as  could  be  crowded  into  the 
limit  of  two  weeks.  I  would  like  to  tell  how 
these  'circles'  noted  and  furnished  from  their 
own  exchequer  needed  supplies  and  toothsome 
delicacies;  how  one  circle  of  'King's  Daughters' 
gave  a  pound  party  in  order  to  fill  our  larder,  and 
another  made  picnics  to  the  Cottage  to  see  the 
'other  girls' ;  of  how  nearly  eighty  guests  were 
rested  and  recreated ;  of  how  my  own  little  five 
dollars,  which  was  my  only  nest  egg,  multiplied 
more  than  one  hundred  times. 

"After  four  harassing  failures  we  found  an 
old  farm  house  at  Camden,  nineteen  miles  out  on 
the  L.  &  N.  Then  arose  new  obstacles — cheap 
fare  for  flat  purses,  and  freight  charges.  A  let- 
ter to  Col.  Atmore,  general  passenger  agent  of 
the  L.  &  N.,  explaining  my  work  and  asking  co- 
operation,   brought     this    immediate    reply:     "I 

57 


hasten  to  answer  your  note  that  there  be  no  delay 
in  perfecting  your  plans.  Our  present  fare  is 
$1.14.  I  name  you  a  minimum  rate  of  one  cent 
a  mile,  or  nineteen  cents  to  Camden.  Free  freight 
was  equally  wonderfully  bestowed  on  us.  Mr. 
Culp  allowed  us  to  transport,  free  of  all  cost, 
everything  we  needed  the  whole  summer  through, 
and  then  in  the  fall  he  sent  a  special  car  to  be 
sidetracked  and  packed  for  our  home  coming. 
This  packing  up  was  a  necessary  burden,  since 
we  were  only  summer  renters. 

"  'He  answered  all  our  prayers  abundantly, 

And  crowned  the  work  that  to  His  feet  we  brought, 
With  blessings  more  than  we  had  asked  or  thought. 
We  stood  amazed  and  whispered,  Can  it  be  thus? 
How  wonderful  that  He  hath  answered  us! 
Oh,  faithless  heart,  wherefore  didst  thou  fear? 
Why  marvel  that  thy  Lord  hath  kept  His  word? 
More  wonderful  if  He  should  fail  to  bless 
Expectant  faith  and  prayer  with  good  success.' ,: 

Here  Miss  Casseday's  report  closes  for  1890. 
She  had  made  the  feast  for  others,  but  she  could 
not  partake  of  it.  In  1891  a  new  location,  larger 
and  better,  was  rented,  and  Jennie  Casseday  said 
to  her  sister  that  she  felt  impelled  to  be  carried 
out  to  it ;  that  if  she  was  to  win  the  girls  for 
Christ,  she  must  go  among  them,  and  take  their 
hands,  and  kiss  them,  and  learn  their  sorrows  and 
help  them.  But  how  could  she  go?  To  touch 
her  couch  sent  thrills  of  pain  through  her  body. 

She  was  beloved  almost  to  being  worshiped  in 
her  native  city ;  and  the  people  of  Louisville,  of 
every  rank,  were  deeply  moved  by  what  was  thus 

5<? 


contemplated ;  and  so  there  was  much  thought 
looking  to  the  devising  of  plans  for  the  easy 
making  of  the,  to  her,  hazardous  trip.  At  last  a 
band  of  young  mechanics  planned  a  way.  They 
would  carry  her,  on  her  cot,  the  whole  distance 
with  lock-step.  What  were  twenty  miles  to  lov- 
ing hearts !  The  railway  offered  an  open  car,  the 
street  railway  a  platform  car,  the  Avery  Plough 
Company  made  a  cot  with  long  handles,  trained 
nurses  asked  permission  to  go  as  escort,  and 
tearful  eyes  looked  from  windows  as  the  white 
form  passed.  Supported  by  the  arms  of  the  men, 
stepping  four  by  four,  she  went,  held  up  in  the 
freight  car  all  the  way,  that  the  jostle  of  the  car 
might  not  injure  her.  Thus  she  went,  and  thus 
she  came,  for  two  summers,  whiter,  thinner, 
more  a  spirit  each  trip ;  but  doing  a  grand  work 
among  working  women  in  the  quiet  time  of  their 
busy  lives. 

Then,  the  next  summer,  these  went,  with  white 
flowers  and  wet  eyes,  and  renewed  their  conse- 
cration vows  beside  the  little  hillock  where 
rested  one  of  the  bravest  human  souls  that  ever 
died  for  others. 

But  Rest  Cottage  goes  on — now  named  The 
Jennie  Casseday  Rest. 

From  a  letter  written  the  summer  before  she 
died,  to  our  sister,  Mrs.  Eliza  Casseday  McElroy, 
and  while  she  was  at  the  Rest  for  the  last  time, 
I  quote  the  following: 

"Since  the  middle  of  June  we  had  from  twenty 
to  fifty  guests  all  the  time.     These  young  work- 

59 


ers  came  to  us  from  the  telephone  and  telegraph 
offices,  from  stenographer's  desk  and  storehouses 
and  school-room ;  and  many  had  been  toiling  be- 
yond their  strength  and  were  weary  and  ex- 
hausted. 

"We  had  so  many  ways  of  making  beautiful 
all  the  days,  that  it  is  difficult  to  know  where  to 
begin,  and  which  to  choose  for  our  story,  but  we 
believe  that  we  can  claim  that  there  was  no 
summer  resort  in  the  land  where  the  guests  had 
more  enjoyable  entertainment,  nor  where  the 
good  times  were  more  full  of  unselfish  and  cour- 
teous consideration  for  each  other's  interests. 

"Financially  we  have  had  the  loveliest  co- 
operation. Our  Board  sent  out  circulars  last 
spring,  and  the  response  was  quick  and  inspiring, 
and  lifted  us  above  the  weary  anxiety  of  the  two 
past  seasons. 

"Offtimes  some  girl's  board  was  met  out  of 
the  pleasure  purse,  or  some,  whose  circumstances 
were  very  needy,  were  helped  to  food  or  other 
necessaries  for  their  own  homes.  These  pitiful 
tales  were  never  told  whiningly,  but  were  brought 
out  by  heart  to  heart  talk  when  an  over-anxious 
countenance  made  an  opening  wedge  for  a  touch 
of  close,  warm,  sisterly  sympathy,  which  drew 
forth  full  confidence.  These  trials,  if  they  could 
be  told,  would  fill  your  heart  and  would  over- 
flow your  eyes  with  hot  tears.  I  wish  I  could 
disclose  them  to  you,  but  they  must  not  be  writ- 
ten, lest  the  ones  who  gave  them  to  me  would 
feel  their  recital  a  breach  of  trust. 

60 


"And  it  is  here  the  spiritual  side  of  this  work 
comes  in  so  forcibly.  Jesus,  himself,  dwelt  in 
the  midst,  and  the  influence  of  His  presence  was 
constantly  encircling"  us,  forming  and  transform- 
ing lives.  One  of  the  young  teachers  said,  when 
she  went  to  leave,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been 
passing  through  a  revival  season.  Another  ex- 
pressed herself  as  "always  longing  to  hear  the 
little  silver  bell  ring  for  prayers,"  while  still 
others  found  an  uplifting  of  heart  and  soul  which 
showed  itself  in  reaching  up  and  out  after  a 
nobler,  true  womanhood. 

I  think  I  must  tell  right  here  a  story  that  is  so 
illustrative  of  Jennie  Casseday's  faith  and  hu- 
manness  as  to  bring  a  smile  whenever  I  tell  it. 
She  went  to  Rest  Cottage  a  week  or  so  in  ad- 
vance of  the  opening  of  that  summer  Home  so 
as  to  get  rested  before  the  girls  came  out.  Her 
nurse  and  I  went  with  her.  One  day  her  nurse 
asked  to  spend  the  night  in  town  and  Jennie 
gladly  accorded  the  privilege.  When  bedtime 
came  we  were  surprised  to  find  that  the  woman 
who  had  been  employed  as  housekeeper  had  given 
the  cook  permission  to  spend  the  night  out,  and 
had  herself  left  the  home  without  leave.  That 
year  the  Rest  was  located  not  far  from  a  lunatic 
asylum  and  sometimes  there  were  escapes  from 
it  and  wanderers  through  the  neighborhood.  Also 
the  house  was  on  the  line  of  a  railroad  and 
tramps  were  not  infrequent.  I  was  consternated 
— worse  than  that,  frightened.  I  went  to  my 
frail  little  sister  and  said  in  despair:  "What  shall 
we  do?    You  and  I  are  all  alone  in  this  house  for 

61 


the  whole  night.  There  is  no  house  very  near, 
and  if  there  were  I  could  not  leave  you  to  go 
for  assistance.    What  can  we  do?" 

Jennie  gave  me  one  of  her  gentle  smiles  and 
answered,  "We  can  trust  God.  That's  not  so  bad 
a  thing  to  do,  is  it?"  "Yes,"  I  said,  "but  the 
lunatics,  and  the  tramps,  and  the  possibility  of 
your  sudden  illness?" 

"Do  you  think  they  are  not  also  in  God's 
hands?" 

So  we  went  to  bed  and  Jennie  went  to  sleep 
almost  at  once.  But  I  was  very  wakeful  until 
past  midnight.  In  the  morning  the  colored  man, 
who  came  early  to  do  the  milking,  had  a  horrid 
report.  He  told  that  at  4  in  the  morning  a  luna- 
tic got  loose  and  came  to  Rest  Cottage  and 
danced  right  under  Jennie's  window  in  a  wild 
sort  of  dance.  He  had  on  nothing  but  cotton 
underdrawers  and  he  had  a  new  big  tin  wash- 
pan  over  his  head  and  a  long  iron  flesh-fork  in 
his  hands.  Searchers  came  and  got  him  at  day- 
light and  took  him  back  to  the  asylum.  I  was 
rather  elated  at  this  news  and  carried  it  at  once 
to  my  sister's  bedside.  "Aha,  Miss  Trustful," 
I  said,  "let  me  tell  you  what  happened  last  night, 
and  maybe  you  will  not  be  so  trustful  again." 
And  I  told  it  all,  adding  such  gruesome  reflec- 
tions as  came  to  me. 

"Were  you  frightened?"  she  asked. 

"Frightened?  No,  I  did  not  know  he  was 
there  or  I  would  have  been,  sure." 

62 


"Did  the  man  hurt  you  or  me?"  she  coun- 
tered. 

I  had  nothing  more  to  say  and  Jennie  closed 
the  incident  by  quoting:  "Except  the  Lord  keep 
the  city  the  watchman  waketh  but  in  vain." 


63 


Jennie  s  School  for    Training 

Nurses 

"God  did  anoint  her  with  his  odorous  oil 
To  wrestle,  not  to  reign." 

"And  I  know  that  when   God  gives  to  us 
The  clearest  sight, 
He  does  not  touch  our  eyes  with  love, 
But  sorrow." 

JENNIE  CASSEDAY  died  early  in  1893. 
Late  in  1887  she  told  me  that  a  great  work 
for  humanity  waited  to  be  done  and  that 
probably  her  own  long  and  weary  training  in  the 
school  of  suffering  was  token  of  her  call  to  the 
service.  She  thought  it  quite  improbable  that  it 
would  occur  to  persons  in  fine  health  to  found  an 
order  of  trained  and  skillful  nurses,  but  maybe 
she  had  been  given  the  idea  because  to  her  had 
been  assigned  the  burden.  Then  she  unfolded  a 
plan  which  she  had  wrought  out  in  the  silent 
night  watches,  when  sleep  was  forbidden  her. 
It  was  a  plan  to  inaugurate  a  regular  school  for 
training  picked  women  to  be  skillful  nurses.  The 
pupil  nurse  should  be  a  woman  of  high  moral 
character ;  she  should  be  physically  fit ;  she  should 
have  at  least  a  high  school  education,  since  to 
have  reached  such  measure  of  school  training 
presumed  a  certain  perseverance,  good  intelli- 
gence, years  of  discipline,  and  at  least  fair  powers 

64 


of  observation.  She  hoped  no  woman  would 
enter  this  form  of  ministry  without  a  thought  of 
its  meaning  and  a  consecration  to  its  purposes. 

With  wonderful  clearness  Jennie  sketched  for 
me  her  vision  of  what  such  a  profession  should 
be,  and  what  results  must  necessarily  flow  from 
it — help  for  the  patient  in  times  of  weakness,  as- 
sistance for  surgeon  or  physician,  work  for  num- 
berless women  in  the  closing  years  of  the  XIX 
century,  when  doors  were  opening  somewhat 
slowly  for  women,  and  Satan  was  finding  much 
"mischief  still  for  idle  hands  to  do."  Jennie  had 
always  rather  dreaded  public  life  for  young 
women — office  life,  factory  life,  clerkships  in 
stores  and  other  openings,  new  and  filled  with 
temptations.  Jennie  foresaw  the  inevitable.  One 
decision  of  her  planning  seemed  a  bit  queer  until 
its  value  was  evidenced  by  practice.  It  was 
this :  she  emphasized  the  fact  that  trained  nurs- 
ing must  be  lifted  far  above  the  servant  class. 
Even  in  the  nurse's  own  dormitory  the  pupil 
nurse,  and  also  the  trained  nurse,  must  be  called 
by  the  respectful  title  "Miss"  or  "Mrs." — not 
"Jinny"  or  "Sally"  or  such  name.  A  nurse's 
uniform,  she  demanded,  should  be  like  the  gown 
of  the  surgeon,  or  of  the  minister,  for  self-respect 
or  the  respect  of  others.  In  the  home  or  the  hos- 
pital, Jennie  stressed  the  demand  that  the  house- 
hold should  treat  the  trained  nurse  as  an  equal, 
not  as  a  nursemaid. 

I  must  reluctantly  confess  that  I  failed  Jennie 
in  her  plannings  for  this  outgo  of  hers.    I  urged 

65 


her  not  to  undertake  it:  I  rather  "crowed  over" 
the  many  obstacles  and  hindrances  that  came  in 
her  way  and  would  have  hopelessly  discouraged 
most  other  women.  At  first  nearly  all  the  Louis- 
ville physicians  and  surgeons  either  opposed  it 
or  poohpoohed  it:  the  authorities  at  the  City 
Hospital  openly  antagonized  it  and  those  men 
and  women — untrained  and  unskilled — who  were 
doing  such  nursing  as  they  could,  wherever  they 
could  pick  it  up,  were  loud  in  their  wailings  over 
the  prospect  of  losing  their  jobs.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  Jennie  knew  what  it  was  to  have 
enemies  among  "the  people".  This  hurt  her 
heart,  but  she  gritted  her  teeth  and  bravely  fol- 
lowed her  vision,  sure  of  the  good  that  would 
come.  Nowadays  it  seems  incredible  that  any 
one  should  have  scorned  such  a  noble  conception 
for  humaneness.  To  Mayor  Booker  Reed,  to 
Jennie  Benedict,  and  to  the  King's  Daughters 
must  be  given  praise  for  their  steadfast  faith  in 
Jennie  Casseday's  vision,  for  their  intelligent 
active  co-operation  in  setting  the  School  for 
Training  Nurses  on  foot  and,  since  Miss  Casse- 
day's death,  for  its  maintenance  and  great  en- 
largement. Miss  Benedict  and  Mrs.  W.  L.  Lyons 
among  others  went  a-begging  for  money  for  the 
venture,  and  they  put  the  cause  so  eloquently  and 
convincingly  that  in  a  single  day  these  two  had 
collected  $1,400  for  the  school.  It  was  opened 
for  service  in  1889-90.  When  the  new  organiza- 
tion entered  the  old  City  Hospital,  the  conditions 
there  were  found  to  be  almost  unspeakable,  and 
though   the   new   school   was   allowed   only  five 

66 


nurses  and  three  wards  it  was  not  long  before 
new  sanitation  and  better  methods  got  control 
for  good.  By  the  time  Miss  Casseday,  who  was 
made  president  of  the  school,  sent  out  its  second 
annual  report,  the  school  had  16  pupil  nurses  and 
7  who  had  completed  the  course. 

The  District  Nurse. 

I  have  said  before  that  it  was  never  very  far 
from  Jennie  Casseday 's  head  to  her  heart  nor 
from  her  heart  to  her  hands.  One  year  before 
her  death  she  sent  the  following  appeal  to  the 
Louisville  world  through  the  daily  newspapers — 
always  her  strong  allies: 

"For  several  years  I  have  seen  that  a  great 
need  of  our  city  is  for  a  district  nurse  for  our 
sick  poor.  Those  of  us  who  lie  on  beds  of  down 
and  enjoy  the  luxury  of  dainty  linen  ought  to 
remember  that  pain  hurts  and  fever  burns  as 
fiercely  in  a  hut  as  in  a  palace,  and,  indeed,  more 
so,  as  there  they  must  lie  on  beds  of  straw  or  on 
piles  of  rags,  with  nothing  soothing  or  cleanly 
about  them,  and  with  anxious  care  for  the  fu- 
ture, which  retards  their  recovery.  Ever  since 
the  first  inception  in  my  mind  of  the  Training 
School  for  Nurses  it  has  been  a  dear  purpose  to 
have  one  of  our  graduates  take  up  this  depart- 
ment of  nursing,  and  I  have  now  secured  the  very 
one  I  wanted — one  who  has  had  this  work  in  her 
heart  ever  since  she  began  her  training  at  our 
Louisville  school.  She  has  just  returned  from 
New  York  City,  where  she  took  a  three  weeks' 

67 


course  of  training-  with  the  district  nurses  there, 
so  as  to  familiarize  herself  with  practical  methods. 

"She  started  on  her  rounds  on  New  Year's 
Day,  and  is  to  have  her  list  of  patients  and  to  go 
from  house  to  house  as  a  physician  does,  and  she 
is  to  carry  with  her  freshly-laundered  sheets, 
towels,  pillow-slips,  night  dresses,  and,  where 
needed,  baby  clothes.  The  plan  is  to  secure  a 
membership  fee  of  twelve  dollars  from  each  of 
the  various  churches,  and  a  promise  from  the 
societies  of  young  girls,  and  from  others  in  the 
congregations,  to  keep  clothing  and  bed-linen  in 
stock  for  us.  The  nurse  is  to  be  responsible  for 
all  these  supplies,  keeping  accurate  accounts  of 
where,  when,  and  how  many  are  loaned.  Of 
course  a  trained  nurse  understands  the  need  of 
disinfecting,  as  well  as  laundering,  all  clothing, 
and  this  is  also  to  be  under  her  supervision. 

"I  see  clearly  the  many  difficulties  to  be  sur- 
mounted, the  many  obstacles  to  be  overcome,  but 
I  am  persuaded  the  time  is  now  here  to  inaugu- 
rate in  Louisville  this  system  of  district  instruc- 
tive nursing  which  is  working  out  such  uplifting 
results  in  New  York  City,  Chicago  and  other 
places. 

"As  yet  I  have  written  to  but  twelve  of  our 
churches,  eleven  of  which  have  responded 
promptly.  It  seems  a  large  field  for  one  nurse, 
but  I  see  with  my  "inside  eyes"  that  we  will,  in 
six  months  or  a  year,  find  it  as  easy  to  support 
two  as  it  is  now  to  employ  one.  It  will  take  at 
least  $600  to  carry  out  these  plans  for  six  months. 

68 


I  have  a  fund  raised  now  of  $350.  Our  nurse's 
salary  is  to  be  $50  per  month.  The  graduate 
nurses  of  the  training-  school  average  $50  a 
month,  and  surely  the  young  woman  who  gives 
herself  to  a  life  of  such  real  hardship  ought  to 
be  as  well  paid. 

"In  addition  to  this,  there  must  be  car  fare  and 
an  'Emergency  Fund,'  since  she  must  keep  her 
'nurse's  bag'  well  stocked  with  such  articles  as 
will  be  needed  for  obstetrical,  surgical  or  medi- 
cal cases,  and  she  will  have  to  be  provided  with 
money  in  her  purse  for  car  fare,  etc.  The  nurse 
does  not  take  contagious  cases,  as  this  would 
necessitate  the  neglect  of  all  other  calls. 

"I  am  sure  of  the  success  of  the  work  for  three 
months,  as  I  have  nearly  enough  in  hand  to  carry 
out  all  the  plans  for  that  length  of  time;  but  I 
am  anxious  to  secure  enough  in  bank  for  at  least 
six  months.  My  ulterior  aim  is  to  have  each 
religious  denomination  employ  a  missionary 
trained  nurse  to  call  on  the  sick  in  its  own 
churches ;  and  I  find  this  suggestion  meets  with 
much  favor  in  every  church." 

This  District  Nurse  Work  still  flourishes  and 
blesses,  with  Miss  Benedict  at  its  head. 


69 


The  Jennie  Casseday  Infirmary 

MONUMENTS  are  usually  erected  to  those 
who  are  dead.    Even  then  it  seems  tardy 
justice,  for  such  people  have  almost  inva- 
riably builded  their  own  monument  long  before 
their  human  life  took  wing. 

In  the  case  of  Jennie  Casseday  both  these 
events  happened,  for  all  unwittingly  she  builded 
her  own  monument,  and  while  she  yet  lived  the 
King's  Daughters  prepared  a  monument  for  her. 
However  willingly  and  fully  her  Circles,  the 
Flower  Mission,  the  churches  and  those  people 
who  always  gave  gladly  to  any  cause  of  hers 
helped,  it  soon  became  evident  that  the  sick  poor 
of  Louisville  needed  even  more.  The  city  hos- 
pital was  small  and  always  overfull.  Then  it  took 
in  all  sorts  of  sick  folk  except  those  with  con- 
tagious fevers.  Very  often  a  brave  working 
woman  fell  down  in  the  struggle  with  the 
wolf;  very  often  employed  women  had  sick 
mothers  whom  stern  necessity  compelled  them  to 
leave  all  day  in  straitened  homes,  unattended. 
It  was  such  as  these  that  appealed  to  leaders  in 
the  nurse  work  and  set  them  a-thinking.  Miss 
Jennie  Benedict  was  the  first  to  voice  the  need 
and  suggest  to  her  "Communicating  Circle"  that 
the  King's  Daughters  build  a  free  infirmary  for 
women    and    name    it    after    Jennie    Casseday. 

70 


March  17,  1891,  the  initial  steps  for  this  were 
taken  and  in  January,  1892,  the  first  payment 
was  made  on  a  desirable  piece  of  property  for 
that  purpose.  Nine  hundred  dollars  came  from 
Daughters  outside  the  city  who  had  learned  of 
the  project.  From  far  away  Africa,  from 
Greece,  Mexico,  Canada,  and  from  the  Atlantic 
coast  to  the  Pacific  money  came  in,  to  honor 
Jennie  Casseday  and  to  further  so  noble  an  un- 
dertaking. The  hospital,  fully  equipped,  was 
dedicated  just  thirteen  months  after  the  Infir- 
mary was  suggested,  and  just  ten  months  before 
the  death  of  the  one  whose  name  it  carried. 


71 


Some  Minor  Chords 

IN  the  short  intervals  between  Jennie's  plan- 
nings  for  large  things  for  humanity — between 
her  periods  of  incessant  dull  pain  and  its  oc- 
casional sharp  paroxysms — she  found  time  for 
many  small  activities.  At  one  time,  before 
my  marriage,  we  lived  in  a  large  boarding  house 
whose  Christian  owner  rented  the  top  story  to 
young  men  whose  purses  were  usually  very  flat. 
They  were  small  clerks,  errand  boys,  jobless 
youths  who  were  real  Micawbers,  always  hoping 
for  "something  to  turn  up",  but  who  were  them- 
selves usually  turned-down.  To  the  boarding 
house  also  came  many  bill  collectors  in  the  hope- 
less task  of  collecting  bad  debts. 

From  her  window  Jennie  often  saw  these 
down-and-outers.  Sometimes  they  had  their 
shabby  jackets  buttoned  closely  over  obviously 
unshirted  bosoms.  Sometimes  a  celluloid  collar, 
held  in  place  by  a  soiled  necktie,  towered  bravely 
above  a  rim  of  skin  that  had  failed  to  make  con- 
nection with  the  frayed  coat  collar.  Mostly  their 
conditions  gave  them  that  hang-dog  look  of  fail- 
ure which  bodes  ill  success  for  the  business  of 
collecting  bad  debts  from  unwilling  debtors. 
These  people  got  on  Jennie's  heart  and  she  won- 
dered how  she  could  help  them,  even  a  little  bit — 
help  them,  and  hundreds  like  them. 

72 


I  wonder  if  she  would  like  me  to  tell  how  she 
planned  to  meet  this  tragedy  of  helplessness  and 
poverty?  It  was  not  a  wise  thing  that  she 
planned,  but  it  showed  Jennie  Casseday's  big, 
tender  heart.  As  usual,  she  found  helpers 
enough  and  money,  and  she  opened  a  "Mending 
Bureau"  for  such  persons  as  had  garments  need- 
ing stitches  but  had  not  skill  or  time  to  put  the 
stitches  in.  In  those  days  rooms  were  plentiful 
and  cheap,  and  sewing  women  who  were  glad  to 
get  work  by  the  week  were  easily  reached.  So 
a  room  was  rented,  and  the  Bureau  was  publicly 
announced.  The  daily  papers,  in  their  usual 
helpful  and  sympathetic  way,  made  touching 
"stories"  of  the  cause  and  its  originator,  and  the 
work  commenced. 

Then  appeared  a  new  side  of  tragedy.  The 
socks  brought  to  be  mended,  the  under  and  outer 
garments  brought  to  be  patched  or  darned ;  the 
shirts  brought  to  be  re-banded ;  were  a  sight  to 
behold  and  bore  an  odor  to  be  avoided.  The 
amount  charged  for  work  would  not  have  kept 
an  alley-cat  in  mice.  But  help  came  in  an  unex- 
pected way.  The  whole  city  sympathized  with 
the  needy  poor  and  soon  mysterious  bundles  of 
clean,  partly  worn  clothes  began  to  come  in  and 
were  sold  over  the  sewing  machines  for  less  than 
the  mending  would  cost.  So  the  Bureau  was  a 
help  after  all.  Its  mundane  life  was  short,  but 
its  psychologic  life  reached  far  and  long.  On  the 
day  of  Jennie's  funeral  the  number  of  frayed 
jackets  and  coarse  blanket  shawls  that  elbowed 

73 


diamonds  and  furs  down  the  church  aisles  was  a 
revelation  to  all  who  saw  it. 

The  Shut-Ins. 

Early  in  1887  Jennie  heard  of  a  new 
society,  formed  entirely  of  invalids,  of  which 
she  at  once  felt  herself  to  be  a  part.  It  originated 
in  the  mind  of  a  very  deaf  lady  who  had 
membership  in  a  Unitarian  church  near  Cin- 
cinnati Her  deafness  shut  her  out  from  most 
forms  of  co-operation  with  her  fellow  men, 
and  so  she  conceived  a  plan  to  brighten  lives  of 
others  also  shut  in  to  solitude — to  bad  days  and 
good  days,  and  days  compounded  of  both  bad 
and  good.  She  began  by  arranging  for  personal 
letters  to  be  sent  from  one  invalid  to  another, 
each  writer  to  select,  from  a  list,  her  own  cor- 
respondent. She  named  it  "The  Post  Office 
Mission",  but  her  pastor  called  it  a  "Friendship- 
sowing  Mission".  When  it  grew  to  great  pro- 
portions, it  somehow  got  its  name  changed  to 
Shut-in  Society,  with  a  little  Society  paper,  The 
Open  Window,  which  introduced  people  to  one 
another  and  became  a  medium  of  much  sunshine 
to  shut-ins  of  all  classes  and  conditions.  Many 
in  the  various  groups  got  through  it  inspiration 
to  be  hopeful  against  the  stealthily  advancing 
foe,  strong  to  suffer,  strong  to  repress  complaint, 
acquiescent  in  the  will  of  God,  and  thoughtful 
for  others.  Jennie  wrote  much  for  this  paper 
and  many,  many  letters  to  helpless  and  burdened 
ones.      Also   she   got    from   it    friendships   that 

74 


lasted  all  her  life  and  then  came  down  to  bless 
and  beautify  mine. 

The  Shut-in  Society  still  carries  on  its  mis- 
sion of  mercy.  It  is  highly  organized,  having 
committees  doing  all  sorts  of  helpful  things  for 
its  invalid  members.  One  activity  is  a  central 
exchange  where  Shut-ins  may  send  such  things 
as  they  themselves  make  and  have  them  sold. 
Some  paint  Christmas  and  Easter  cards ;  some 
tat;  some  do  wood  carving;  some  embroider 
beautiful  things.  Any  member  anywhere  who 
has  no  contagious  disease  may  submit  work  to 
the  Exchange.  We  note  in  the  October  Open 
Window,  in  the  report  of  the  Wheel-Chair  Com- 
mittee, that  four  wheel  chairs,  one  pair  of 
crutches  and  a  bedside  table  have  been  "re- 
leased" and  are  ready  for  loaning  again.  The 
society  is  doing  a  silent  but  wonderful  work. 

Jennie  lived  before  the  birth  of  the  Victrola  or 
I  do  not  know  what  would  have  happened.  I 
will  let  my  readers  think  it  out.  Instead  of  tell- 
ing the  story  myself,  I  will  copy  an  article  pub- 
lished in  the  organ  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  The 
Union  Signal,  in  1890.  The  story  really  should 
not  come  into  a  chapter  entitled  Minor  Chords, 
for  it  is  the  record  of  a  very  major  chord.  I 
give  the  article  in  full. 

[June  9,  1890,  was  Miss  Jennie  Casseday's  fiftieth 
birthday.  To  commemorate  that  event,  as  well  as  to 
show  their  appreciation  of  the  wonderful  "Ministry  of 
Flowers."  which  this  beloved  invalid  has  introduced  to 
the  world,  the  National  W.   C.  T.  U.  and  a  few  per- 

75 


sonal  friends  presented  to  Miss  Casseday  a  handsome 
music-box.  From  the  following,  an  extract  from  a  pri- 
vate letter  to  Miss  Willard,  written  by  the  dear  invalid's 
sister,  will  be  gathered  the  appreciation  of  the  recipient, 
who  seems  too  full  of  joy  to  answer  for  herself. — Ed.] 

My  Dear  Miss  Willard: — I  think  Jennie,  in 
her  own  room,  is  struggling  with  her  emotions 
in  a  vain  endeavor  to  express  something  of  the 
surprise,  gratification,  delight,  gratitude,  and  other 
lame  English  appellatives,  which  mastered  her 
completely,  when  the  big  express  box  was  finally 
opened,  and  the  handsome  music  box  was  brought 
to  view.  It  has  been  the  dream  of  her  shut-in 
years  to  own  such  an  instrument,  and  my  hus- 
band and  I  were  hoping  to  secure  such  for  her 
in  the  not  distant  future.  The  cyclone  toppled 
over  our  prospects  and  now  this,  the  offering  of 
many  hearts,  the  fruitage  of  much  tenderness  and 
love,  is  a  thousand  times  better  to  her,  means 
more,  gives  more,  binds  closer.  If  the  sweet 
women  who  thought  of  and  planned  this  token 
could  have  seen  her  receive  it,  they  would  need 
no  words.  They,  too,  would  have  shed  tears  over 
this  little,  brave,  limited,  shut-in  soul,  craving 
music,  craving  nature,  liberty-loving,  and  in  har- 
mony with  all  things  harmonious  and  beautiful, 
yet  shut  up  to  one  narrow  corner,  tied  to  six  feet 
of  one  room,  and  withal  cheerful,  sunny,  self- 
abnegating,  giving  of  such  as  she  has  with  both 
hands.  Fancy  this  harmonious,  poetic,  loving 
soul  having  brought  to  her  the  gathered  love  of 
dozens  of  other  souls !  It  was  like  a  caged  wood- 
land bird,  with  all  the  songs  of  the  wild  woods 

76 


trembling  in  its  throat  unspoken  and  unknown, 
to  whom  come  the  songsters  of  the  wilderness, 
blithesome  and  cumberless,  and  pour  out  the 
wealth  of  their  freedom  and  their  sympathy. 

The  music  of  the  instrument  is  as  sweet  as 
music  can  be,  but  its  notes  falter  and  fail  before 
the  larger  music  that  is  behind  it.  Jennie  says 
that  with  a  heart  and  brain  fuller  than  ever  be- 
fore in  her  life,  she  is  absolutely  dumb.  So  if  / 
tell  you  how  grateful  we  all  are,  you  will  under- 
stand. May  the  good  Lord  reward  you  W.  C. 
T.  U.  women  a  thousand  fold  for  all  the  shine 
and  uplift  you  bring  into  other  hearts! 

Fanny  C.  Duncan. 

[As  thi<  letter  was  being  put  into  type  the  mail 
brought  the  following  one  from  Miss  Casseday  herself, 
and  we  cannot  debar  our  readers  from  the  pleasure  of 
reading  it. — Ed.] 

Sick  Bed,  July  26. 

My  Dear  "White-Ribbon  Sisters": — I  have 
just  found  out  "the  hozv"  of  my  magnificent  mu- 
sic box.  I  do  not  know  yet  who  are  the  donors, 
but  I  have  by  searching  found  that  Mrs.  J.  T. 
Foote  planned  the  surprise,  and  asked  our  "Peer- 
less Queen,"  Frances  E.  Willard,  to  start  the 
ball  to  rolling,  and  that  Miss  Willard  communi- 
cated with  every  state  president,  and  that  they 
responded.  I  suspect  our  "Esther,"  too,  had  a 
share  in  that  part.  But  how  it  was  possible  for 
so  many  to  know  the  secret  and  I  not  get  the 
faintest  whisper,  is  a  mystery  to  me.     I  have 

77 


been  longing  to  tell  you  some  of  my  grateful, 
loving  appreciation  of  your  magnificent  gift,  but 
neither  tongue  nor  pen  can  find  adequate  expres- 
sion of  what  it  means  to  me. 

It  was  the  Thursday  after  my  birthday,  and 
every  hour  of  the  whole  week  love  and  beauty 
and  gladness  had  been  pouring  into  my  cup  of 
happiness  until  it  was  filled  to  flowing  o'er ;  the 
mid-day  mail  brought  me  quite  a  budget  of  let- 
ters, and  as  I  looked  over  them  before  opening  I 
recognized  Miss  Pugh's  handwriting  and  laid  it 
aside  saying  to  myself,  "Oh,  that's  good !  they 
have  sent  me  birthday  greetings  from  Head- 
quarters ;  I  will  read  it  after  the  business  letters." 
It  is  well  I  did,  for  I  was  quite  unfit  for  work 
for  the  rest  of  that  day.  Miss  Willard's  letter 
fell  first  from  the  envelope,  and  as  I  read  I  be- 
came more  and  more  mystified.  What  could  she 
mean  ?  A  music  box  ?  and  for  me  ?  "Your  white- 
ribbon  sisters  from  many  points  of  compass,"  she 
said,  "have  thus  conveyed  their  loving  thoughts 
of  you,  beloved  little  sister,"  and,  "it  has  been 
thought  fitting  to  send  this  music  box  as  a  birth- 
day souvenir." 

I  attempted  to  read  it  all  aloud  to  my  nurse 
who  was  the  only  one  in  the  house  at  that  time. 
I  began  very  bravely  but  broke  down  in  the  first 
sentence,  and  cried  like  my  heart  would  break. 
Again  when  my  sister  came  home,  and  the  box 
had  come,  and  the  music  started,  I  lost  all  con- 
trol and  acted  the  baby.  My  tears  lie  very  deep, 
and  so  seldom  come  to  the  surface  that  I  was 

78 


really  quite  exhausted  by  night,  and  could  not 
bear  the  excess  of  pleasure  the  sweet  strains 
gave  me,  and  had  to  have  them  shut  away  from 
me  until  the  next  day.  Will  you  laugh  at  me 
when  I  tell  you  that  I  had  my  nurse  "set  it  a 
going"  at  five  o'clock  the  next  morning?  For 
several  years  I  have  longed  for  a  music  box,  and 
all  this  spring  I  think  "my  mouth  must  have  been 
a-makin'  up  for  it,"  as  I  have  had  an  increasing 
desire  for  one. 

I  only  wish  each  and  every  one  of  you  could 
come  and  sit  down  by  my  bedside  and  listen  to 
its  exquisite  music.  It  would  rest  you  as  it  does 
me,  and  I  think  you  could  hear  the  wonderful 
notes  that  it  sings  to  me  of  more  than  earthly 
sweetness,  tuned  as  it  is  by  love  to  heavenly 
music.  I  was  lying  here  in  the  moonlight  the 
other  night,  listening  to  the  "Wedding  March," 
and  as  I  listened  I  thought  it  would  soothe  me  to 
hear  that  if  I  was  dying.  To  each  and  all  who 
have  had  a  share  in  making  this  new  source  of 
happiness  in  an  already  happy  life  I  want  to  send 
my  most  loving  and  grateful  thanks.  I  wish  I 
knew  how  to  express  what  I  feel ;  but  I  believe  I 
need  not  wait  for  that  now,  but  one  day,  when  I 
have  exchanged  it  for  a  harp  you  will  find  some 
notes  ring  out  clearer  and  more  praiseful  be- 
cause of  your  beautiful  gift,  and  the  tender 
thought  that  lies  behind  its  sending. 

In  bonds  that  endear  and  endure,  I  am  yours 
lovingly  and  gratefully, 

Jennie  Casseday. 

79 


The  next  number  of  the  Union  Signal,  the 
September  number,  carried  the  story  of  the 
music  box  a  step  further,  telling  how  even  it 
can  be  made  of  use  in  God's  kingdom  when  it 
becomes  a  part  of  the  possessions  of  a  conse- 
crated invalid.  This  article  is  entitled  The  Min- 
istry of  Music  and  is  in  the  form  of  a  letter  writ- 
ten by  Miss  Jennie  to  her  White  Ribbon  sisters 
who  sent  the  box.  It  is  dated  September  8,  1890 
I  will  extract  from  it: 

"One  day  last  week  I  was  lying  here  busily 
engaged  in  a  letter  which  was  writing  itself  to 
a  friend  in  deep  sorrow,  when  my  attention  was 
attracted  to  a  young  girl  coming  up  to  the  door. 
She  was  carrying  a  heavily-framed,  cheap  print, 
and  was  canvassing  for  it.  I  felt  reluctant  to 
be  "called  aside"  just  then  to  see  her,  but  in 
an  instant  reflected  that  she  must  be  very  tired. 
She  must  need  the  rest  of  a  little  "sit-down,"  so 
I  told  my  nurse  to  invite  her  to  come  in.  As  she 
walked  toward  us  she  held  up  her  poor  picture, 
and  said,  in  that  shy,  baffled  manner  one  recog- 
nizes in  a  discouraged,  worn-down  person,  "I 
would  like  to  show  you  a  pretty  picture,  and  I'll 
sell  it  cheap;  only  four  dollars."  The  poor  child 
looked  so  discouraged,  so  weary,  that  my  heart 
ached  for  her ;  and  I  urged  her  to  be  seated  and 
rest  a  little.  After  calling  for  a  glass  of  cool 
water  for  her  I  began  to  talk  with  her  of  her 
work ;  of  her  unfitness  for  such  heavy  work ;  of 
her  failures,  etc.,  etc.,  and  then  of  how  God  loves 
us  and  walks  beside  us  wherever  we  go,  and  I 

80 


tried  to  soothe  her  with  the  blest  thought  of  the 
thoroughness  of  God's  Omniscience;  that  He 
would  not  be  the  God  He  is  if  there  was  any- 
thing that  concerns  our  living  that  He  does  not 
see  and  know ;  that  if  He  is  Omniscient,  Omnipo- 
tent, and  Omnipresent,  as  His  Word  declares  He 
is,  then  we  can  spell  all  of  our  disappointments 
with  an  H.  (How  often  that  word  has  served  me 
in  my  trial  hours!)  As  I  talked,  I  could  see  that 
she  was  trying  to  "abide  in  the  secret  place  of  the 
Most  High,"  and  to  nestle  her  defenceless  head 
under  the  shadow  of  His  wings.  Just  at  this  mo- 
ment my  nurse  was  passing  through  the  room, 
and  it  came  to  me  as  an  inspiration  to  have  that 
blessed  music  box  play  for  her. 

"I  know  each  one  of  you  who  has  part  in  it, 
would  have  thanked  God  could  you  have  seen 
the  soothing  and  the  peace  which  came  into  that 
sad,  weary  young  face  as  she  listened  to  the 
strains  of  its  beautiful  selections.  You  would 
have  been  impressed,  as  I  was,  with  the  ministry 
of  music,  and  would  have  seen  God's  part  in  your 
gift  of  love  to  me. 

"Soon  the  sweet  notes  began  working  their 
own  miracle,  and  this  disheartened  child  of  God 
took  me  into  her  inner  self  and  poured  out  her 
soul's  secret  story ;  and  as  she  talked,  the  music 
lent  its  undertone  and  sent  its  harmonious  sooth- 
ing all  through  her.  When  she  arose  to  go  she 
said,  with  her  eyes  overflowing  with  tender  tears, 
"Oh  I  thank  you  so  much  for  this,  I  feel  so 
rested ;  oh,  I  never  had  such  a  good  time  in  my 
life."  8l 


"And  now  for  another  tone ;  and  this  time 
rings  out  the  glad  notes  of  the  "Wedding  March" 
to  a  joyful  household.  On  the  evening  of  the 
2nd  of  this  month,  my  sister's  son  brought  home 
to  us  his  welcome  bride,  and  as  their  feet  stepped 
over  the  threshold,  Mendelssohn's  Wedding 
March  greeted  them,  and  seemed  never  so  beau- 
tifully played,  full  of  unspoken  words.  I  believe 
your  gift  will  go  on  blessing  and  being  blessed 
for  many  a  weary  heart  and  many  a  sweet 
solace." 

The  music  box  is  now  in  the  possession  of 
Jennie's  sister,  Mrs.  Eliza  Casseday  McElroy, 
Richmond,  Virginia. 

There  were  other  musical  events  for  Jennie  in 
her  prison  house,  and  they  refreshed  her  spirit 
and  made  for  pleasant  memories  in  many  a  weary 
day  of  silence.  The  first  public  event  came 
through  Mr.  James  Clark,  then  president  of  the 
new  telephone  company,  Louisville's  first  tele- 
phone. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clark  were  dear  friends 
of  Jennie,  and  he  used  to  spend  a  part  of  every 
Sunday  afternoon  in  her  room.  One  Sunday  he 
said,  "Miss  Jennie,  would  you  not  like  to  have  a 
telephone  put  in  some  church,  so  that  you  can 
hear  the  sermon  and  the  music?"  Jennie's 
lighted  face  was  sufficient  answer,  and  he  went 
on  to  ask  "What  church  would  you  like  best  to 
have  it  in?"  Jennie's  family  were  dyed-in-the- 
wool  Presbyterians,  with  five  generations  of  min- 
isters on  the  family  tree,  but  with  fine  courtesy 

82 


she  said,  "In  whatever  church  you  belong  to." 
She  thought  the  Clarks  were  Episcopalians. 

Mr.  Clark  replied  softly,  "Miss  Jennie,  I  am 
no  churchman.  I  never  go  to  church  except 
when  Mrs.  Clark  makes  a  point  of  it." 

Quickly  Jennie  replied,  "Then  let  us  both  go  to 
Mrs.  Clark's  church.     Which  is  that?" 

To  her  delight  it  was  the  Warren  Memorial 
Presbyterian  Church,  of  which  the  distinguished 
and  noble  Dr.  A.  A.  Willetts  was  then  pastor. 
In  passing,  let  me  say  that  no  pen  can  ever  de- 
scribe the  joy  and  spiritual  comfort  Jennie  re- 
ceived from  her  membership  in  that  church,  un- 
der the  pastorates  of  Dr.  Willetts  and  Dr.  Sam- 
uel Hamilton.  They  both  were  men  of  master 
minds,  shot  through  and  through  with  spirit- 
uality. 

Now  to  connect  a  musical  feast  with  this 
church  telephone — 

The  Flower  Mission  needed  money.  Jennie 
planned  and  managed  a  fine  concert  for  its  bene- 
fit. She  never  did  things  in  a  small  way,  so  she 
secured  the  largest  hall  in  the  city,  charged  best 
prices  for  tickets,  and  engaged  high  musical 
talent.  Of  course,  she  had  no  thought  that  she 
herself  would  hear  any  part  of  it.  But  before 
the  day  of  the  concert  came,  the  telephone  com- 
pany instructed  Jack  Featherstone,  to  whom  had 
been  assigned  the  weekly  care  of  her  phone,  to 
connect  Miss  Jennie's  phone  with  Library  Hall 
and  to  see  that  its  accoustics  were  perfect.     Im- 

83 


agine  her  when  Jack  came  in  and  told  the  good 
news.  He  also  brought  a  headpiece,  so  that  she 
need  not  weary  to  hold  the  transmitter  to  her 
ear.  And  when  that  concert  was  over  the  com- 
pany kept  a  phone  in  both  the  church  and  the 
hall  until  Jennie's  death.  From  the  church  she 
could  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  Elders  as  they 
carried  the  cup  of  communion  from  pew  to  pew, 
could  hear  the  rich  voices  of  the  choiristers,  and 
the  glorious  messages  of  the  pastor.  From  the 
Hall  she  could  hear  the  tinkling  toes  of  dancers, 
the  jokes  of  "end-men,"  the  sonorous  tones  of 
Bob  Ingersol,  and  many  other  delightsome  things 
that  came  to  amuse  the  public. 

To  Library  Hall,  during  the  period  of  the 
World's  Fair  at  Chicago,  came  the  great  Hun- 
garian violinist,  Remenyi,  on  his  circuit.  If  I 
remember  rightly,  he  was  drawn  hither  by  desire 
to  see  Henry  Watterson,  whom  he  had  met  in 
Washington  City  during  his  first  visit  to  Amer- 
ica. Mr.  Watterson's  musical  knowledge  and 
personal  magnetism  had  fixed  themselves  in  the 
heart  of  the  Hungarian  and  drew  him  to  Louis- 
ville. While  on  the  stage,  Remenyi  observed  the 
telephone  and  at  once  worked  himself  into  a  fury. 
Who  was  stealing  his  music  in  that  low  fashion? 
When  Mr.  Watterson  told  him  the  story  of  the 
telephone  and  of  the  invalid  benefactor,  so  loved 
in  city  and  country,  the  great  violinist  was  much 
moved  and  begged  to  be  taken  to  visit  her.  He 
came.  He  saw.  She  conquered.  He  staid  long 
and  played  for  her  his  finest  music.     When  he 

84 


rose  to  go  he  asked  permission  to  come  as  often 
as  he  was  near,  and  finally  said  he  would  create 
a  special  concert  for  her  and  donate  all  the  pro- 
ceeds to  any  charity  she  selected.  She  had  sev- 
eral letters  from  him  and  he  afterwards  came  to 
Louisville,  gave  the  concert  and  it  brought  Jen- 
nie's charity  fund  $800.  I  cannot  remember 
whether  she  applied  it  to  the  Flower  Mission,  to 
Rest  Cottage,  or  to  King's  Daughter  work. 

The  next  musical  artist  to  notice  the  phone  on 
her  stage  was  Clara  Louise  Kellogg.  She  too 
frowned  a  bit,  but  when  they  told  her  the  tale 
of  its  presence  there,  she  impulsively  took  up  the 
transmitter  and  called  up  our  house.  Jennie  was 
awake  and  was  much  astonished  to  hear  the 
words:  "I  am  Clara  Louise  Kellogg.  May  I 
come  to  see  you  to-morrow?  I  would  have  sung 
one  selection  just  for  you,  if  I  had  known." 

I  think  it  was  to  Mr.  Watterson  too  that  Jen- 
nie was  indebted  for  the  first  visit  of  Lew  Wal- 
lace, author  of  "Ben  Hur."  Mr.  Wallace,  on  this 
his  first  visit,  said  that  his  call  must  be  brief  as  he 
was  hurried  for  time ;  but  when  finally  he  looked 
at  his  watch  he  was  surprised  to  find  he  had 
spent  over  an  hour  at  Jennie's  bedside.  After 
he  reached  his  home  he  wrote  her  and  sent  her 
an  autographed  presentation  copy  of  "Ben  Hur." 
He  came  again  to  the  city  and  to  our  house.  Her 
death  preceded  his  by  only  two  years. 

I  am  warned  by  a  kinsman  at  my  elbow  not  to 
tell  too  much  of  the  visits  of  great  men,  espe- 
cially   as    I    announced    in    the    beginning    that 

85 


through  all  my  book  "one  increasing  purpose 
runs" — to  inspire  and  encourage  all  of  God's 
children,  and  especially  his  Shut-ins,  to  watch 
out  for  opportunities  of  usefulness  even  in  the 
midst  of  great  afflictions.  But  this  coming  little 
story,  which  arises  on  my  memory  just  here,  must 
be  considered,  not  as  the  visit  of  a  "great  man", 
but  only  as  the  coming  of  a  very  human  man 
with  a  great  heart:  The  Gentry  Dog  and  Pony 
Show  came  to  Louisville  and  the  manager  sent 
a  messenger  to  Jennie  to  say  he  would  like  to 
give  a  performance  for  her  special  benefit.  With 
a  half-laugh  and  half  tear  she  told  the  messenger 
she  could  not  leave  her  room  to  witness  any- 
thing. She  was  wholly  helpless.  The  messen- 
ger said  if  she  would  like  to  see  the  show  all  that 
could  be  managed.  And  it  was.  The  city  fathers 
gave  unhesitating  permission ;  the  circus  people 
roped  off  half  a  square  under  her  window  and 
the  dogs  and  ponies  and  monkeys,  and  attending 
rabble  of  small  boys  and  negroes,  did  themselves 
proud  with  monkey  antics  and  barking  dogs  and 
dashing  little  ponies. 

Another  street  scene  pageanted  by  loving 
hearts  for  her  especial  pleasure  was  the  march  of 
the  national  body  of  Elks  past  her  window.  A 
motion  was  formulated  in  the  convention  hall  to 
learn  if  Miss  Casseday  would  like  to  see  the 
next  day's  parade.  Our  street  was  not  in  the 
line  of  march  at  all,  but  they  would  detour  if 
she  would  like  to  watch  the  parade.  Of  course 
she  would,  and  they  came  marching  past,  every 

86 


man  unhatting  as  he  reached  her  window,  hold- 
ing his  hat  in  his  right  hand  opposite  to  left 
shoulder,  as  is  done  in  reverencing  the  flag. 
She  could  hardly  see  them  at  all  for  tears, 
though  she  waved  her  handkerchief  until  the 
last  man  was  out  of  sight.  She  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing to  the  leader:  "Yours  is  the  first  really 
fine  parade  I  have  seen  since  Civil  War  times, 
when  a  procession  of  so  many  hundreds  of  men 
awed  rather  than  charmed  us.  As  I  watched 
rank  after  rank  of  strong,  noble,  manly  men 
belonging  to  an  order  'established  to  promote, 
protect  and  enhance  the  welfare  of  each  other' 
I  took  fresh  courage  for  my  life  work,  and  new 
inspiration." 

Soon  after  this  came  Liberati  with  his  jeweled 
cornet  and  his  silvery  notes  of 

"Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee, 
E'en  though  it  be  a  Cross 
That  raiseth  me." 

Cappa  was  with  Liberati  and  the  thought  of 
the  Cross  in  that  room  brought  tears  to  his  eyes 
and  ours. 


87 


Entered  Into  Life 

"Blessed  are  the  dead   who  die  in  the  Lord. 
Yea,   saith   the  Spirit,  and  their  works 
Do  follow  them." 

On  February  8,  1893,  Jennie  Casseday  joined 

"The    choir    invisible 
Of  those  immortal   dead   who  live  again 
In   minds  made  better  by  their  presence;   live 
In  pulses  stirred  to  generosity, 
In  deeds  of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 
For  miserable  aims  that  end  with  self, 
In   thoughts    sublime   that   pierce   the   night   like    stars, 
And  with  their  mild  persistence  urge  men's  search 
To  vaster  issues." 

THAT'S  all !"  said  her  beloved  physician. 
his  fingers  on  her  pulse.  ''She  has  left  us 
forever !  Were  it  possible  for  an  artist/  to 
put  on  canvas  the  beauty  of  her  soul,  the  world 
would  proclaim  him  the  Master  of  his  art." 
No  further  word  was  spoken,  and  no  one  stirred. 
It  was  as  if  a  cloud  had  received  her  out  of 
our  sight,  but  the  room  seemed  filled  with  white- 
ness and  light,  and  the  breath  of  spirits  from 
another   world.     Dead  ?     No,   translated ! 

The  funeral  was  announced  for  eleven  o'clock 
at  the  Warren  Memorial  Presbyterian  church ; 
but  before  nine,  sorrowful  groups  began  wend- 
ing their  way  from  the  by-streets  and  narrow 

88 


homes,  eager  to  be  a  part  of  the  ritual  for  the 
dead.  Three  hundred  pews  were  ribboned  off 
for  the  King's  Daughters  and  two  hundred  for 
Nurses  and  Flower  Missionaries.  Young  women 
had  all  they  could  do  to  find  places  for  the 
flowers.  Horny  hands  of  toil  brought  their  loose 
bunches  of  old  fashioned  posies  from  the  garden 
and  claimed  place  for  them  beside  the  costly  de- 
signs of  the  rich.  Before  eleven  o'clock  arrived 
the  big  church  was  overflowing  and  waiting  peo- 
ple crowded  the  street  to  the  curb.  It  was  hard 
to  keep  an  open  way  for  the  violet-covered  coffin, 
borne  in  the  loving  hands  of  loving  workmen 
from  Avery's  plow  factory — the  same  young  men 
who  had  fastened  plow  handles  to  the  ends  and 
sides  of  Jennie's  cot  and  borne  her  in  their  hands 
every  step  of  the  way  from  her  home  in  Louis- 
ville to  her  Summer  Home  for  Working  Girls 
(Rest  Cottage),  twenty  miles  out,  never  once 
letting  her  cot  touch  the  floor  of  the  special  car 
provided  by  the  chiefs  of  the  Louisville  and  Nash- 
ville Railway  for  her  journey.  We  felt  it  fit- 
ting that  they  should  be  her  active  pallbearers  on 
that  last  journey. 

The  throngs  waited  long,  but  Mrs.  William 
Belknap  was  at  the  organ,  and  the  sweet,  sad, 
music  of  Mozart's  Requiem  floated  out  on  the 
morning  air  in  blessing.  During  the  short  jour- 
ney from  the  door  to  the  altar  she  played  Chopin's 
March,  and  the  coffin  reached  its  rest  as  the  last 
strains  faded  away  in  the  dome  of  the  church. 

89 

61407' 


All  that  was  mortal  of  Jennie  Casseday  now 
lies  in  Cave  Hill  Cemetery,  in  the  same  grave 
with  her  adored  father.  Louisville  has  no  more 
beautiful  spot,  nor  any  holier  sepulcher. 

The  next  morning  Miss  Almira  Johnson,  a 
cousin  and  adopted  sister  of  Henry  Watterson, 
and  then  principal  of  one  of  the  public  schools, 
resolved  to  make  the  life-work  of  Jennie  Casse- 
day the  topic  of  the  morning  exercises  in  chapel. 
Now  I  shall  use  a  clipping  from  the  Courier- 
Journal  of  February  10,  1893: 

"Miss  Johnson  told  her  pupils  with  loving  words 
about  the  countless  good  deeds  of  the  departed. 
She  told  how,  during  her  many  long  years  of  af- 
fliction, Miss  Casseday  had  never  tired  in  her 
noble  work  of  helping  the  poor,  relieving  the  sick 
and  reforming  the  criminal.  She  told  also  how 
beautifully  she  had  succeeded  in  accomplishing 
all  that  she  started  out  to  do.  A  more  tender  and 
touching  tribute  could  hardly  have  been  paid, 
and  the  lesson  Miss  Johnson  drew  was  that  the 
memory  of  such  a  woman  should  be  honored  and 
her  example  used  as  an  inspiration  and  shining 
light  to  cause  others  to  follow  in  her  footsteps. 

"Before  she  began  her  talk  Miss  Johnson  had 
hoped  that  the  scholars  would  be  impressed  and 
arrange  to  send  flowers  to  strew  on  the  grave.  She 
had  hardly  completed  her  talk  before  such  a  propo- 
sition came  from  one  of  the  children.  Others 
united  in  the  movement,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
$15  in  pennies,  nickels,  dimes  and  quarters  had 
been  collected.    Others  announced  that  they,  too, 

90 


would  give,  and  when  all  the  contributions  are 
in  the  fund  will  amount  to  fully  $20. 

The  principal  had  another  suggestion  to  make. 
'Why  should  all  this  money  be  invested  in 
flowers?"  she  asked,  "that  will  look  pretty  for  a 
day  and  then  fade  and  wither.  Why  not  get 
something  more  enduring?' 

"  'A  monument,'  suggested  a  childish  voice. 

"  That's  just  it,'  the  principal  replied,  'a  monu- 
ment.' 

"Preliminary  plans  were  discussed,  and  it  was 
decided  to  take  the  money  raised  by  the  children 
and  use  it  as  a  nucleus  for  a  monument  fund. 
And  it  was  further  decided  that  the  monument 
should  be  something  handsome  and  worthy  of  the 
exalted  life  it  would  be  erected  in  memory  of." 

Other  public  school  children  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  wish  and  brought  goodly  contributions  for 
the  monument.  But  just  here  Miss  Jennie  Bene- 
dict interposed  a  new  plan.  She  suggested  that 
the  children  let  the  monument  funds  go  to  pay- 
ing off  the  two  remaining  notes  on  the  Jennie 
Casseday  Infirmary,  as  the  Infirmary  itself  was 
already  a  monument.  Many  children  opposed 
this  and  insisted  on  having  a  monument  in  Cave 
Hill  that  should  at  once  mark  the  resting  place 
of  Jennie  Casseday  and  their  own  loyal  appre- 
ciation of  her  life.  Others  approved  Miss  Bene- 
dict's appeal  and  the  funds  got  divided. 

91 


Over  Jennie  Casseday's  body  at  Cave  Hill 
stands  a  love  token  from  the  children  of  Louis- 
ville— not  so  stately  and  handsome  as  they 
wished,  but  very  touching  indeed  to  Jennie's  fam- 
ily. The  words  encircling  the  girdled  globe  at 
the  top  of  the  monument  were  taken  from  Mil- 
ton's epitaph  on  Shakespeare: 

"Thou,  to  our  wonder  and  astonishment. 
Hath  built  thyself  a  live-long  monument." 


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92 


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